Salvage what you can
by Snape's Nightie
Summary: Two men who lost their youth, health and innocence through two wizarding wars are salvaging what they can of their lives. Rated M for past torture and future ...something else? SLASH RLSS
1. The Quiet Life

Two men who lost their youth, health and innocence through two wizarding wars are salvaging what they can of their lives. Remus Lupin finds comfort in his home and garden, Severus Snape in academia. Rated R for past torture and future…something else? SLASH RL-SS.

Disclaimer: Characters and situations be not mine, they be JKR's. I merely toy with them, mwhahahah.

Remus did not like crowds nowadays. Diagon Alley on Saturday afternoon was swarming with witches and wizards, and Remus found it exhausting. So many people stopped him to chat – friends, ex-students, ex-colleagues, and though all of them wished him well, he wanted nothing more than to slink back to his little Derbyshire home to enjoy the silence.

But he shouldn't complain. He was just here to pick up a 21st birthday present for Harry, which would not take long. Christmas and birthday presents to Harry were all the same, a memory of his parents or Sirius to put in the pensieve he had inherited from Dumbledore, more precious than any material thing Remus could afford, and Harry was always thrilled with the new addition to his collection. But this was a special birthday, and Remus had seen a tiny ebony box with running wolves etched around the lid, perfect for giving the young man a solid memory of himself, rather than liquid memories of others.

He adjusted his neckscarf as he entered the antique shop, starting violently when a krup shot through the door and out into the street, accompanied by shrieks from an elderly witch inside.

"Mackintosh! Oh stop him! Please!" On reflex, Remus made a grab for the dog's collar, missed, then chased him into the doorway of Flourish & Blott's, only to collide with someone and send them both sprawling painfully on the floor. A wooden chest which had been levitating behind the other person jolted against the wall and burst open, sending scores of small glass vials tinkling over the cobbles. A handful of people rushed over to help.

"Lupin," hissed the wizard in a harsh whisper.

"Severus!" exclaimed Remus in shock. "Are you all right? I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you? I'm sorry!"

Snape said nothing as he was helped to his feet and handed his cane. A middle-aged couple and a glamorous young witch (Hannah Abbot in make-up? wondered Remus absently) were firing gathering spells at the rolling and apparently unbreakable vials, Mackintosh had started barking at the chaos and a flapping Lottie Blott was trying to usher everyone into the shop to sit down.

"Are you all right?" asked Lupin again, once the two former classmates were calmly sipping tea at the Blott's kitchen table.

"I daresay I will survive," whispered Snape. "Although I must reproach you for bringing chaos to my life whilst capering around with a mangy old mutt. It seems old habits die hard."

Remus smiled at the reference to Sirius, and automatically readjusted his scarf again.

"How have you been?" he asked, genuinely wondering. Remus had heard that, like himself, Snape lived alone, but with considerably less human contact. He had fewer friends after all, and Remus' popularity with the Order members and Harry's contemporaries ensured that he had no shortage of invitations to coffee, dinner, weddings, christenings and every imaginable occasion. He doubted the prickly former spy was in such demand, but perhaps he preferred it that way.

Snape shrugged. "I occasionally contribute to research projects at the Institute of Master Potioners. I have been invited to mentor two of the new Bronze Standard students part-time, but I am undecided. The idea of returning to teaching is not pleasant."

"But IMP is nothing like Hogwarts," Remus assured him. "The students there are dedicated adults. They won't mess around playing pranks like the schoolkids."

"You think so?" Snape frowned. "During my last visit the second year Healing students were distributing an experimental powder which, when consumed with porridge, turns the subject into a pound of brussels sprouts." Remus laughed loudly at this marauderly endeavour.

"And these are the healers of tomorrow? Merlin, I thought the IMP students were a bit more restrained?"

"The healers-to-be are traditionally the wildest. In my day they were always being physically ejected from The Singed Eyebrow whilst blind drunk. They consider their two years studying potions to be less important than the rest of their training," though Severus' voice was a shadow of what it had been, the sneer was as effective as ever.

Abruptly Snape stopped and looked away, suddenly flustered.

"I…ah, I rarely speak this much anymore," he quietly admitted, as Remus leaned forward in concern. "Most people have difficulty hearing my voice now. I find repetition frustrating." Remus grinned and tapped his ear.

"Werewolf," he reminded him.

Snape was momentarily startled, then allowed the smallest twitch of a smile.

"How could I forget?"

Remus was glad to get home. Snuggled in his favourite chair looking out onto his garden he removed the grey silk scarf and folded it neatly over the armrest. His earlier encounter with Severus has rather unsettled him for reasons he did not fully understand. So many casualties, he sighed to himself, reaching for the tub of painkilling poultice he always kept close at hand, and smearing some on the livid silver burn disfiguring his throat. The potions master's involvement with IMP was a good thing, but Lupin had a feeling any correspondence was effected in writing, and there was no compulsion for a mentor to appear at the Institute in person. He would most likely resist any attempts to invade his personal space, but their conversation that afternoon had raised more questions than it had answered. The werewolf made up his mind. He would, for the hundredth time, try to become friends with Severus Snape.

What do you think? I'd love to know! x


	2. What did you do in the War, Daddy? pt 1

…………………..

Flashback 5 years

The previous day, Remus and Tonks had collected Harry from the Dursleys. He had only been there for two weeks since Sirius' death, but Dumbledore had finally relented and allowed him to escape after Hermione and Molly had pleaded and shown the headmaster the distressing letters the boy had sent them. Harry's grief was overwhelming and no one felt that leaving him with his disinterested muggle relatives was a good idea. Surprisingly, even Snape had mentioned "some events he had witnessed during occlumency lessons" which led him to agree, though when pressed he refused to reveal details.

"Severus, if you know something about those muggles, you should…" pressed Mrs Weasley earnestly.

"You are supposed to be his friends," he spat at the roomful of concerned faces, "If he has not seen fit to inform you of his miserable childhood, then I certainly do not have that right."

Remus had been stunned. Firstly, Severus was sticking up for his teenage nemesis and keeping his secrets. Secondly, Severus had seen things which made him categorise Harry's childhood as 'miserable'. His life with his relatives must have been truly horrific. Remus had been uncharacteristically firm and had brought him straight back to Grimmauld Place, this time without the boisterous Weasley crowd, and Harry was quietly grateful. He had been invited to the Burrow that evening for a "surprise" birthday party, but he had told Remus that right now he preferred the comfort of his godfather's house, where the two mourners were as content to discuss their memories of Sirius as they were to sit in silence.

Snape arrived with the wolfsbane potion at six, silently handing the goblet to Remus, who drank it down with the usual grimace. Snape then sat down next to Harry, who sat up in alarm and glared at him.

"Mr. Potter," he asked softly, lacing his fingers in front of him and fixing his gaze on them. "Who killed Sirius Black?"

The silence rang in Remus' ears, deafening. What the hell was Snape playing at? Harry's face contorted with anguish, then grief, then rage, then icy determination. After what seemed like an hour, he replied;

"Bellatrix Lestrange." Snape nodded firmly, and suddenly Remus understood.

"But," continued Harry, looking away, "Others contributed. I should not have acted so recklessly. Kreacher should not have betrayed us. Umbridge should not have sent Dumb… sorry, Professor Dumbledore away. Professor Dumbledore should not have treated me like a baby. I should not have looked into your pensieve and you should not have thrown me out of your office. The Ministry should not have attacked Hagrid and Professor McGonagall. And Sirius," he paused to swallow thickly, then continued, "Sirius should not have left this house. There were a lot of things, even more, which led up to it." Tears were rolling down his cheeks now. "Sirius' wrongful imprisonment made him a bit unstable, which was because of Wormtail faking his own death, because of my parents…" he tailed off. Snape nodded again, and added gently;

"You are correct. Things rarely happen due to a single deciding factor. Black's death was the result of an intricate chain of events stretching back more than twenty years. But analysing your explanation, all of these factors do lead back to one individual. One person is ultimately the cause of all this."

"Voldemort," whispered Harry.

The three wizards sat in silence for a few minutes. Something had passed between Severus and Harry, not acceptance or forgiveness, but a certain understanding, and Remus was relieved to feel it. He was also thrilled that the boy had not continued to blame himself, and had obviously been reflecting on this and drawn his own, mature conclusion. The werewolf felt a rush of almost paternal pride for his friend's son, and also a flicker of admiration for Snape's decision to ask the question.

The silence was suddenly disturbed by the ear-splitting wail of an alarm. 12 Grimmauld Place was heavily warded and someone or something must have attacked the headquarters' with hostile intent. They all started up, immediately drawing their wands. Men's voices sounded from the kitchen, then the unmistakable high pitched harpy cackle of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Death Easters! Here!" gasped Remus.

"It's her," hissed Harry ferociously.

"Lupin, get him out of here!" urged Snape, pushing them towards the fireplace.

"No good, the floo's blocked. And there's an apparition block too. We can head for the back door!"

"It will be guarded," said Snape calmly, "Standard procedure. But the Order will have been alerted by the alarms, they should be arriving any…"

The sitting room door was blasted off its hinges, and the three wizards had no choice but to back into a corner, Remus and Severus pushing a struggling Harry behind them as the room quickly filled with masked Death Eaters. Bellatrix's grin could have lit the Great Hall as she fired a squibbing curse, instantly robbing them of their magic.

"How exciting!" she squealed in delight, "A dark beast, a traitor and the boy-who-lived! What's the date today, Dolph?"

"July the 31st," replied a gruff-voiced figure, "Why, love?"

"I fought it was Cwistmas!" she joked in her baby voice. "Delightful! How have you been, Sevvie-Wevvie? Have you missed us? The Dark Lord has been missing you, he'll be so pleased to see you again. Very rude, you know, not answering his calls. No wonder he's….upset with you!"

Shouting outside heralded the arrival of the order, and Remus tensed, ready for anything. Nothing happened.

"We have hostages," they heard Rodolphus Lestrange's voice in the corridor. "Come any closer and my wife will cruciate the lot of them. All night if need be. She has amazing stamina when cursing."

Harry was seething against the wall.

"Don't move," whispered Remus. "The others will get us out of this."

Bellatrix was ordering two huge Death Eaters to bind them. Snape fumbled in one of the pockets of his robe.

"What are you doing?" hissed Harry.

"An experiment I have been working on, I have yet to test it on human subjects." Remus and Harry exchanged a worried look, as Snape flung a tiny vial into the midst of the Death Eaters, shattering on impact with the floor.

A thin blue gas instantly filled the room. The robed figures started choking, then clutching at their left arms and screaming in agony. Through watering eyes Remus saw Snape doing the same and knelt down to try and help him. The Death Eaters were collapsing on the floor in convulsions as the Order streamed in, apparently unaffected by the fumes, but highly confused.

Two days later, when Severus had recovered enough to explain, everything became clear. He had developed a potion which reacted violently with the specialised dark magic present in the Dark Mark, but was harmless to anyone without it. Dumbledore was absolutely over the moon, as was Snape, who had not expected his little summer project to work so effectively. The fact that he had spent 48 hours in a coma did not seem to bother him, and he was as close to being happy as anyone could remember. Now only Voldemort and Pettigrew remained at large – the Ministry, the Order, and the wizarding world in general was delighted with Snape for striking such a great blow for the Light.

Snape was still recovering in the hospital wing when he received the best accolade of all. Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey were chatting quietly in the dispensary when they heard a maniacal giggling coming from their colleague's room. Fearing some kind of unpleasant side-effect, they rushed to his side to find him clutching a piece of parchment in one hand and cuddling the owl that delivered it to his chest with the other. The owl looked unimpressed.

"Severus, put the owl down, please," admonished Madam Pomfrey, deftly preparing a tranquilliser potion.

"What on earth is the matter?" asked Minerva gently. He grinned at her and brandished the letter. She took it and peered through her spectacles at the official calligraphy, then gasped.

"The Institute of Master Potioners are awarding you Gold Standard!"

Poppy dropped the vial she had been holding and gaped.

"That's wonderful news! There are only a handful of Gold Standards in the country! They are the best of the best!"

Snape started giggling again and squeezed the owl tightly. It shrieked, bit him as hard as it could and zoomed away in disgust.

"Five," he grinned up at the astonished witches, ignoring his bleeding thumb. "The top five potion masters in Britain."

Dumbledore strolled in a moment later, champagne in hand and bits of glitter in his hair from the impromptu party in the Great Hall, and was bemused to find all three of them giggling in delight. It was delightful to see all his children so happy. Now, he thought to himself, if we can just take out Riddle…

­End Flashback

A/N: Thanks to my lovely reviewers! You're all so generous! I know Snape is a bit OOC here, but he's just had a wonderful shock. Needless to say, the good times don't last long (I'm such a bitch).


	3. Yours sincerely

Laburnum House

Darley Dale

Derbyshire

25th July

Dear Severus,

I just thought I would write to check that you are feeling no lingering upset after our collision yesterday. I must apologise once again for the incident. However, I cannot condemn it entirely, as I was pleased to see you and enjoyed our brief chat in the Blotts' kitchen.

My silver burn can be extremely painful around the full moon, but for the rest of the time I barely notice it anymore.

Harry will be 21 on Saturday. I can't believe how quickly the time goes!

Remus

…….

The Gatehouse Oldcastle Road 

Nr. Lamorna

Cornwall

26th July

Tempus fugit, Lupin, yet we would be lost if it did not.

I am perfectly well, thank you for your enquiry.

S.S.

…….

Laburnum House

27th July

Dear Severus,

I am so glad you are feeling all right.

The weather here has been so lovely this week, I am doing a lot of gardening, it is fast becoming my favourite pastime. My garden is small but I am immensely proud of how it is shaping up. The herbs in particular, are flourishing.

I went to a barbeque at Ginny and Neville's yesterday evening (that's not gossip, by the way, they are just sharing a two-bedroomed flat). They say hello.

So you live down in Cornwall now. But a vague old memory suggests that the Snape family estates have always been down in the South West somewhere. Austere grey stone in the gothic style perched atop a rugged cliff and battered by a howling wind and restless sea, I shouldn't wonder.

Remus

…….

The Gatehouse

28th July

Impudent Griffindor.

S.S.

…….

Laburnun House

29th July

Dear Severus,

How right you are. Yet you do not refute my allegation.

Remus

…….

The Gatehouse

30th July

Castle Snape began its demise in 1901 when a devastating magical fire destroyed the east wing, weakening 400 years of wards. Subsequent coastal storms brought down the South Tower and caused the sea-facing wall to collapse. My grandfather's unfortunate gambling habit ensured there were no funds for restoration, and my uncle Malvolio finally sold the estate in 1951 to a muggle property developer in order to bribe his way out of Azkaban. All that remains is the Gatehouse, which is of no great size but perfectly acceptable accomodation. The muggle was unable to build on the land, it seems five centuries of dark magic can have an unfortunate effect on a place. No one dares approach this area. Which suits me perfectly.

I daresay you will be celebrating with the brat tomorrow. He is well, I trust.

S.S.

…….

Laburnum House

1st August

Dear Severus,

Harry is indeed well, and asked for your address. Looking back perhaps you would not wish me to give it to him, but I'm afraid I did. I hope this does not offend. The party was lovely, and Harry enjoyed himself. Things seemed to slow down at about 9pm so I left the young ones talking quietly on the balcony. I doubt they stayed up very late.

You may be interested to hear that I have managed to grow a healthy octurvice bush in my herb garden. I know it refuses to grow in costal areas, so if you ever need some I can send it over.

Remus

…….

The Unicorn Inn

Godric's Hollow

Gloucestershire

2nd August

Dear Prof. Snape,

I hope you don't mind me writing. I was really glad when Remus told me that you had been in touch. I hope you are well and enjoying peacetime. I won't bore you with my psychological developments since the battle, but know that I am well, and very much enjoying life.

Saturday was my birthday, and we had an afternoon buffet at my digs in London, which became rather drunk and disorderly from about midnight, after the more civilised elements went home. I will spare you the outrageous details, but the Weasley twins were involved. Fred has customised his wheelchair with some alarming adaptations!

I am spending a lot of time in Godric's Hollow at the moment, supervising the building of a house on the land I inherited from my parents. We decided not to rebuild the one that Riddle demolished, I am adapting those foundations into a sort of Garden of Remembrance for all the ones we lost. I am thinking of calling the new place Phoenix Cottage (as it rises from the ashes), though I don't know if that's too trite. Making my own decisions feels great, and there are lots of people around to offer me advice (whether or not I want them to!). I enjoy living in London for now, but I can't see myself settling down with a family here.

Anyway, I hope you don't mind me boring you with this.

Take care of yourself,

Harry Potter

PS Hermione came across some of your research on aconite substantiation in the quasi-magical environment (sorry if I got that wrong) while she was writing a paper on the adaptation of potion dosage when treating squibs, or something. She got the highest mark in the class, of course. H.P.

…….

The Gatehouse3rd August

Mr. Potter,

Sublimation, not substantiation, but otherwise correct. Miss Granger's ongoing excellence in the pursuit of knowledge is no surprise. I am certain she will be a credit to St. Mungo's.

I must point out that your description of your birthday celebration differs somewhat from Lupin's, but my discretion on the subject is absolute.

The best of luck with Phoenix Cottage. Albus would be proud.

S.S.

…….

The Gatehouse 

3rd August

Lupin,

I must congratulate you on the octurvice. I would be grateful if you would allow me a few sprigs. Naturally, I shall reimburse any expense. As you are no doubt aware, it is too delicate for owl delivery, so I am currently forced to travel to Diagon Alley to obtain it. There one is always at the mercy of thoughtless hooligans and krups barging around, knocking frail wizards to the floor.

S.S.

…….

Laburnum House

6th August

Dear Severus,

Excuse the delayed reply. Time of the month etc.

I will gladly bring the octurvice to you myself. Can't be too careful of those hooligans.

How about on Sunday? Is your fireplace on the floo network?

Remus

…….

The Gatehouse

7th August

Tomorrow will do very well. Thank you. I will open the floo.

S.S.

…….

Perfect, thought Remus with a small smile. He is allowing me into his life.

………………

A/N: I hope you didn't find the letter narrative too annoying. I thought it was the most realistic way Remus would establish contact with the reclusive Severus.

Thank you for the reviews! I like to know your opinions x


	4. Progress

Remus stepped out of the fireplace on Sunday afternoon, gently cradling the box of octurvice clippings against his chest. Blinking away the momentary disorientation, he saw Severus standing in the middle of an average-sized sitting room, leaning elegantly on his cane.

"Lupin," he nodded in greeting.

"Severus," smiled Remus. "It's nice to see you again."

Snape took the box wordlessly and motioned him vaguely towards an armchair before carefully leaving the room, presumably to attend to the delicate magical herb. Typical, thought Remus with a sad smile, he even manages to hobble gracefully.

Every wall in the room was covered with bookshelves, floor to ceiling, but the large bay window let in enough light to keep the atmosphere from being oppressive. It took Remus a moment to realise why the fine old antique furniture looked rather clumsy – each piece was suited to a much larger, grander room than this. They were obviously heirlooms salvaged from the family castle before it was sold, though still in good condition despite their reduced circumstances.

There were a few ornaments and knick-knacks on the marble mantelpiece. Remus' eye was caught by a recent photograph, tucked randomly behind a gold ormolu clock. A tanned young man with chin-length platinum blond hair had his arm around the waist of a laughing girl with olive skin and abundant brown curls, their relaxed expressions belying the formality of their robes. Remus waved it as Severus re-entered the room.

"Draco looks well," he observed, glad to have found a way to open conversation.

"He is. That photograph was taken at his mother's wedding two years ago."

"Oh yes, I read that she remarried. An Italian millionaire, wasn't it?"

"Indeed. The Count is more than twenty years her senior. I understand Draco receives a considerable allowance from him." Lupin was amused.

"Draco doesn't work then?"

Snape sighed, and settled into a chair.

"Most of his time is spent sailing, playing pegasus polo and fighting off amorous young Italian witches. Or so he informs me." Lupin chuckled at the thought of Harry's reaction to the lifestyle of his old enemy. He was surprised not to see Snape rolling his eyes or passing comment on such a frivolous existence.

"You approve, Severus?"

He pressed his fingertips together thoughtfully, before answering in that fragile whisper,

"Not exactly. Yet I cannot blame him for enjoying his youth. I would be concerned were he to remain thus occupied ten years from now."

Enjoying his youth. Remus felt an unpleasant stab of jealousy as he thought of himself at twenty-one. Up to his neck in war and political intrigue, fighting Draco's father and his cohorts alongside Sirius, Peter, James and Lily, not knowing that his world was about to be utterly destroyed in a matter of months. Then years of drifting, betrayed and alone with his deadly curse, even denied any contact with little Harry, the only ray of hope in the miserable pit that was his life. But it would not do to wallow. Glancing over at Severus, he saw that he too was lost in an equally painful past.

He must have grown up in this house, Remus realised, suddenly keen to explore. He was about to suggest a tour of the building when a house-elf appeared from nowhere with a tray of tea and biscuits.

"Thank you, Josty," whispered Severus, leaning forward to pour out two cups.

"Choccy biccies!" exclaimed Remus in delight. "I didn't know you had a sweet tooth."

"Of course not," admonished Snape. "But I was expecting a guest who does."

Inexplicably pleased at this small piece of thoughtfulness, Remus began telling Severus about his own little house, hoping to encourage the other wizard to talk about the Gatehouse. But either because his throat was sore, or because he did not care to venture the information, he seemed content to sit and listen to what quickly became the Laburnum House monologue. Slightly disappointed, Remus continued nonetheless, enjoying any opportunity to talk about his home. As he moved on to describe the gnarly old cherry tree in the garden, the side door creaked open and a small, fierce-looking kneazle padded in and glared at him with apparent outrage. Remus tailed off, glancing at Severus.

"I didn't know you had a pet, Severus," he said, as amiably as he could under that ferocious yellow-eyed stare.

"It would seem that the creature has me, rather than the other way round," he commented wryly. The kneazle snarled, showing its sharp teeth. "It invited itself inside one day, and shows no inclination to leave. I find its presence somewhat relaxing."

"You could have fooled me," Remus could not refrain from commenting. Snape shrugged noncommittally.

"How would you feel on returning home to find a werewolf sitting in your favourite chair?"

Lupin had to agree that, were he a kneazle, he would not be amused. Most smaller creatures were wary of him. Then he caught what Severus had said.

"He has a favourite chair?"

"I believe the beast is a female. This is my favourite chair, you are sitting in hers. You will find everything in this house settles into its proper place."

"What about me? Will I get a proper place?"

The appraising black eyes stared even more intently than the yellow feline ones on the rug. After a while, Remus began to feel uncomfortable, knowing he had crossed the line by casually suggesting more frequent visits.

"You wish to spend time here?" Severus asked finally , his soft voice betraying no emotion whatsoever.

"I would like to see you," Remus began defensively, then hastily added, "If you don't object that is. I wouldn't want to disturb you."

Severus was silent for a few moments, allowing Remus to take in the black hair, now liberally threaded with white, hanging in front of his face and the oblong black-framed spectacles, forming physical barriers between their owner and the outside world. Despite his natural dislike of pets, he had welcomed a small, striped kneazle when it invited itself into his life. He also had a natural dislike of Remus Lupin…

"I doubt you would disturb me," he admitted finally. Glancing from one house guest to the other, he whispered, "But I must insist you choose another chair, I cannot tolerate the hostility between you two."

Remus was delighted with the decision, and chose the window seat. Peering outside he could not see the sea, but he could taste it in the fresh air blowing through the slightly open sash. The afternoon sunshine felt warm and soothing on his face. Next to the hearth the kneazle sniffed at the place he had just vacated, kneaded the upholstery for a moment, then, with a final death glare at him, curled up for a nap. Sinking a little deeper into his chair, Snape poured himself a second cup of tea as the clock melodically struck the half hour, barely disturbing the comfortable silence.

Interesting, thought Severus to himself. I wonder what the werewolf thinks he's doing?

………………….

A/N: Hope you don't mind the peaceful domesticity this chapter. Be assured, there will be a nasty flashback next time (I think Murielmodel will enjoy it, from what you've said before!) Thanks to Muriel, LilStripedTomato and Hopgoblen for taking the time to comment on my new chapters, and thanks to Wanda, Snuff, heytheredorothy and Silverthreads too. I love hearing what you have to say! Lots of love, SN x


	5. What did you do in the War, Daddy? pt 2

Warning: This chapter is NASTY. It contains torture, imprisonment, character deaths and a super-smarmy Voldemort. I even grossed myself out writing one particular part of it. Ten house points if you can guess which bit. Ick!

…………………

Flashback Three and a Half Years 

Wednesday, 2:15pm.

The potions laboratory was quiet as the seventh years concentrated their cauldrons, having been assured that this particular brew was a favourite of the NEWT examiners. The only sounds to be heard were the occasional clink of a glass stirring rod, the gentle roar of the flames or the sound of Snape pacing the room with his all-seeing gaze, when suddenly, Harry Potter uttered a little "oh!" and started backwards violently.

"Pay attention, Mr. Potter," chastised Snape lazily. Since the attack at Grimmauld Place on Harry's sixteenth birthday the fierce hatred between them had dissipated, but they were still far from bosom buddies. "No seventeen year old should be lax enough to burn his fingers like a first year. Potter?"

Harry was not listening. Wand out, his eyes were darting around the room wildly as though searching for something. He exclaimed again as his body gave a shudder.

"Harry?" Hermione, instinctively drawing her wand too, touched his shoulder lightly. When he did not respond, she looked up at the professor.

"Miss Granger, let us be overcautious. Please go through to my office and ask the Headmaster to floo down here. Class, please extinguish your flames and neutralise your solution by adding…" he was cut off as Harry whole body began shaking and he clapped his hand to his scar, groaning horribly. Hermione sprinted out of the room. The rest of the class had their wands drawn now and Snape stood in front of the boy, alert but perfectly calm.

"Mr. Potter? Can you tell me what is happening?" Harry was still groaning and shuddering.

"Him. Pulling. Voldemort. Ow!" he began screaming and thrashing wildly, falling all over the room and knocking over stools and cauldrons as though having a fit. Snape was alarmed to feel the dark mark stabbing at his arm but had no time to wonder what it meant as Harry's body began to shimmer at the edges.

"Finite Incantatem!" yelled the professor, wondering what the hell was happening and how the hell to stop it. The spell had no effect and Harry began to blur and flicker as though he was being tuned out of existence. Dumbledore appeared from the office and let his mouth fall open in shock for a fraction of a second.

"Severus! Riddle is using the scar to summon him! He should not be able to do that!"

Snape, clutching his left forearm against his chest in pain, spat out,

"How do we stop it?" The ancient wizard sprang into action uttering spell after spell, binding, holding, anchoring, snatching; but Harry continued to flicker and scream. The students were backed against the walls in terror when their classmate vanished entirely for a heartbeat then reappeared, clawing at the bench in front of him with blurry hands.

Snape could not believe this was happening. After all the struggles over the last two decades, the Dark Lord could not simply bypass all the wards of the castle's ancient magic and drag Potter out of his class, under the very nose of Albus Dumbledore. This should not happen. It could not. He had to do something. Without really knowing what he intended, Severus reached his throbbing left arm out, allowing Harry to take hold of it. Relief flashed briefly in both their eyes before pain shot through every cell of Snape's body, and with Dumbledore's yells ringing in their ears, they shimmered one last time and vanished.

The sudden silence in the classroom was horrible. Dumbledore was utterly dumbstruck at his impotence.

"Sir?" asked Hermione, fearfully. "What…what just happened?"

Dumbledore buried his face in his hands, allowing himself a moment of despair before he had to rally and think of a plan. He slowly turned to look at her, seeming suddenly very old.

"Voldemort has taken my boys."

…….

2:20pm.

A small stone room – cold, bare walls, hard floor, no windows, one door, possibly underground.

Current occupants – one teenage boy, one Gold Standard potions master, one rodenty little man with a silver arm, one Dark Lord.

Voldemort could hardly contain his glee.

"You see, Wormtail," he grinned, addressing Severus and Harry rather than Pettigrew, who was shivering nervously behind him, "The best things come to those who wait. More than a year of intensive research has paid off, and brought us face to face with this little nuisance here, for the final time. And a delightful bonus, to boot! My treacherous little viper displaying full-on impetuous griffindor behaviour in his old age! It's so _very_ good to see you in your rightful position, prostrate at my feet in fear, my dear, misguided Ssseverusss. I cannot bear to see you wasting your genius on those fools! It ends here."

Harry and Snape were immobilised on the stone floor, unable to do more than blink, both utterly homicidal with rage and humiliation. Just you wait, Harry tried to bore the thought into Voldemort's puffed-up serpentine face, It may well end here, but it ends on _my_ terms. He was not sure whether the thought had been fully understood, but the murderous look in his eyes had obviously been conveyed. Voldemort laughed.

"So pathetic, and such a griffindor! To make empty, heroic threats when lying at the mercy of one's enemy, incapable of even flaring one's nostrils. A true slytherin," he sneered contemptuously towards the prone form of the potions master, "Would strike a bargain with me. Would admit that being unable to beat me, he would prefer to join me, and help me establish wizards as the natural masters of the world. You are a powerful wizard, Harry James Potter, this you have proven time and again. But you are young, and naturally follow the lead of those around you. Did you ever stop to question what you learned? Did you never question the blind devotion they demanded from you?" he was now leaning inches from Harry's face, speaking softly to him.

"Since time immemorial, leaders of men have created loyalty in their subjects by setting up enemies, forcing them to unite in order to defeat the outside foe. You are just another pawn in their game, Harry. The dashing, young figurehead who is infinitely more adorable than that shrivelled old man. They care nothing for you. Ten years of abuse by your relatives, watched and noted down every day by the squib. They abandoned you and me both to the muggles, Harry, and we both suffered for it, but despite their neglect we both grew into powerful wizards."

Harry was still glaring, hating having anything in common with this monster, but unable to deny his assertions. Voldemort muttered a spell and Harry was able to speak again.

"That's all in the past! You can't change it now by torturing and murdering everyone to get some twisted sense of revenge!"

"This is the birth of a new world order, Harry, as with any birth, there is pain and blood. It is soon forgotten, once the miraculous new life is brought forth."

"Oh, don't give me that revolutionary crap, Tom. You're just a sick freak."

Voldemort was not taken aback by the words. Instead, he said gently,

"Remember, Harry, together we can change the world. We can discuss what must be done, and act as we see fit. Anything we like. Wouldn't you like to be rid of Fudge? Umbridge? I daresay you would wish your ginger friend's bumbling father to become Minister of Magic instead? To limit the legal injustices against werewolves? All this and more, Harry. We can do it all."

Severus' face betrayed no emotion, but inside he was worried. He knows exactly which buttons to press, he thought in alarm. Merlin, Potter, you must know better than to trust that snake.

"Fuck you, Riddle!" spat Harry. Severus sighed in relief. Apparently he did.

3:20pm.

Voldemort returned after hour, knowing that they would have tried everything in their power to escape, and would have failed. He was enjoying this. He had planned it all perfectly. There was no way they could get out, no way anyone else could find them.

Striding into the room, he renewed his offer of a partnership with Harry. As expected, it was met with venomous profanity.

"I shall take that as a refusal," he said mildly. Turning his attention to Snape, he launched into a long and threatening speech about the terrible mistake he had made in turning spy, in getting all the Death Eaters captured with his amazing potion, in saving Harry's life so many times. Snape said nothing.

"So really, you deserve everything you are about to get," he concluded, motioning at Wormtail, who crept forward and handed him a hammer. With a cheery smile at Harry, Voldemort swung round with speed and smashed it straight into Snape's face. Shocked by the suddenness of the action, Harry cried out in horror. Snape was gaping, but made no sound, as blood poured from his crushed nose and split upper lip. Still smiling benignly, Voldemort reminded Harry:

"Of course, Professor Sssnape is only here because he was trying to save your life."

He left.

4:20pm

Harry was miserable. He understood perfectly now. Voldemort was to be thorough, harming his mind as well as his body. He would be forced to watch his teacher being tortured to death, before experiencing the same fate himself. The worst part being, that the sick bastard was right, Snape should not have been there in the first place. But he wasn't giving him the satisfaction of showing how upset he was. He was muttering to a still-silent Snape that Dumbledore would somehow find them, when Voldemort returned again.

He inspected the smashed-in face carefully, still with that sickening smile. Swollen eyes glared back at him with immeasurable hatred. The hammer, Harry and Severus both observed, was peeking out of the pocket of his robe. He noticed them looking, and removed it, twirling the tool between his thin fingers.

"Crude, I know," he said apologetically. "And not terribly wizardly. But so satisfying to use." He swung it towards Snape again, this time stopping just short of his mangled nose. Snape did not flinch.

"Very good," praised Voldemort. "You won't be able keep that up for long." He swung again, but at a different angle, this time producing a small crunching sound as the weapon connected with Snape's elbow. Harry bit hard on his lower lip, glancing up to see the other captive doing the same. He tuned out whatever taunting words the Dark Lord was saying to his former servant. Why don't they come, he thought angrily, I can't stand this, and he's barely started yet!

5:20pm.

They were establishing a rhythm. Every hour, offers of a partnership with Harry, taunts to Snape, followed by a terrible blow from the hammer.

This time it was a collarbone.

"Nothing to say, Harry? But then I suppose you're accustomed to people dying because of you, by now."

Snape allowed himself a groan of pain once Voldemort was not there to hear it.

Harry's bottom lip was bleeding. I will not cry, he repeated. We will get out of here. We must.

6:20pm.

Crack! Other collarbone.

"James, Lily, Diggory, Black. I hope you're worth it, Harry."

7:20pm.

Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crack! All the fingers on his left hand.

Voldemort was flicking the hammer as though playing a glockenspiel.

"We can stop this anytime, Harry. I could even spare his life, if you wished it. Join me."

"Never!" his voice was still steady.

Voldemort left again.

Snape groaned for a few minutes this time. Then swallowed and managed to speak.

"Well done, Mr. Potter. Do not believe him. Not for a minute."

"I don't," he promised.

8:20pm.

Thump! Ribs, possibly. Harry had his eyes closed.

This time Voldemort left without speaking.

9:20pm.

Thump! More ribs. Snape could no longer stifle the whimpers, even breathing was painful now.

"Oh, very good, Severus!" simpered Voldemort, removing the paralysing spell so that he could watch him squirming in agony. "That's an amazingly high pain threshold!" He leaned towards Harry conspiratorially, "One of slytherin's finest, in his day, you know. Such a pity he's been kissing Albus' pink bunny slippers for so long."

"Dreadful," Snape gasped out in agreement, through a haze of pain. "How the fluff sticks in one's teeth."

Voldemort laughed in delight.

"That," he explained to Harry, "Is what we call 'gallows humour'. My favourite kind."

10:20pm.

Both Harry and Severus were ashamed at their flinch as the door creaked open.

Voldemort stared at them imperiously for several moments, watching their fearful faces as they wondered what horror he was about perpetrate. Merlin, he was enjoying himself. He took a deep breath.

"I have decided," he proclaimed to his audience, "To let you both go."

Harry could not believe it. He released a sigh of relief. At last! But…there was something wrong. Harry glanced up at him, eyes wide.

"Really?"

Voldemort froze in his pompous attitude for a few minutes. The broke into a grin.

"No!"

And he left, cackling.

Harry was livid with rage. He felt like kicking and screaming and killing people because of his own stupidity. In his immobilised state, however, all he could do was swear and give himself a headache. From the floor next to him, he heard a wheezy little chuckle.

"You did ask for that, Mr. Potter."

"Shut up!" he hissed.

In between the little interludes with the Dark Lord, Harry and Snape had been racking their brains for something they could do to escape, or to get in touch with the Order. The only actual thing Snape had been able to do was to embed some of the dirt from the floor under the fingernails of his undamaged hand, in the hope that it might provide some clue to Voldemort's current location when his body was found. Pathetic, he thought, but the best I can do for the moment. He wasn't about to tell the boy, either. He seemed convinced there was some way out of this, and Severus wanted him to cling to that youthful optimism for as long as possible.

Snape felt as though he was floating on waves of pain. So many bad injuries, alternating between persistent throbbing and sharp electric stabs of agony. He was whimpering like a kitten already, and it could only get worse from here. He wondered how much he could take, knowing that only when he died would the Dark Lord turn his attention to killing Potter, and vowed to hold on for as long as possible.

11:20pm.

Harry became immediately suspicious when Voldemort returned, removing the immobilising spell and binding him to the wall instead. He was up to something.

Drinking in his victims' apprehension and finding it delicious, he smiled and left the room without harming either of them. It was all in the anticipation, he decided.

Thursday, 00:20am.

This time, they both tensed and began squirming as they heard the footsteps outside.

So far, Harry considered he had behaved as well as he could under the circumstances. But when Voldemort, with agonising slowness, used an unintelligible dark curse to gently bend back Snape's knee in the wrong direction, with the most horrendous squelching, splintering _crack_; Harry was violently sick.

Voldemort was laughing loudly by the time he finished retching. Looking up shakily, he heaved again as he saw the leg, bent backwards at a ninety degree angle. Snape, mercifully, had blacked out, and Harry found himself wishing he could do the same, wishing he could close his eyes and not have to deal with this, wishing he was still a skinny muggle child in suburban Surrey with no idea about the magical world.

Voldemort pointed his wand at Snape again.

"Ennervate!" he commanded. Snape stirred and cracked open one swollen eye, moaned piteously, and promptly passed out again.

01:20am.

Harry wished he could stop the trembling in his body when Voldemort returned yet again. He hated showing his captor how badly this was affecting him. The Dark Lord was delighted, and launched into some wonderful taunts and reproaches, also thrilled that Snape was now only semi conscious and had begun sporadically murmuring unintelligibly to himself.

"What's that, Severus?" inquired Voldemort with mock concern, leaning close to the bloody, swollen face.

"Nnngmahufka," muttered Snape, eyes glassy and unfocussed with pain.

"No sorry, didn't quite catch that, son."

"Shut up!" yelled Harry. "Shut up! Just shut up! Shut up and leave him alone!"

"Oh dear. Something upsetting you, Harry?", glancing critically at the unnaturally twisted limb. "Yeees, it is pretty unsightly, I agree." He took hold of the ankle and rotated the mangled joint with a nauseating grating sound. Snape gave an un-snapish little squeak and fainted again.

"I should probably put this back to how it was?" he asked Harry enquiringly, who glared, but couldn't help nodding.

"Very well," said Voldemort cheerfully.

Harry's whole body began dry retching again as the knee was bent back to its proper position, splintering through the swelling as it was damaged even further.

"Don't be silly, Harry. It's not as though he'll ever need to walk again."

Hogwarts, Headmaster's office, 02:20am.

"Very well," Deputy Minister Bones nodded to Dumbledore. "It's the only plan we have at the moment."

"It won't work," snorted Moody, folding his arms across his chest.

Dumbledore ignored the old auror, hoping that he was wrong.

"Miss Granger, Mr Weasley," he asked as cheerfully as he could, "Would you please go to the owlery and fetch Hedwig?"

03:20am.

"Crucio!"

Snape screamed, then, unable to bear the agony, passed out silently.

03:21am.

"Ennervate!" Snape struggled back to consciousness.

"Crucio!"

Screaming. Silence.

03:22am.

"Ennervate! Crucio"

Screaming. Silence.

03:23am.

"Ennervate! Crucio!"

Hoarse screaming. Silence.

03:24, 03:25, 03:26, 03:27, 03:28, 03:29, 03:30, 03:31, 03:32, 03:33, 03:34, 03:35. It continued endlessly. At 03:44, the ragged screaming stopped, Snape's larynx ruined for ever. The curses continued, received with harsh gasps instead.

Tears poured down Harry's face. We're never getting out of here, realisation dawned on him. There's no hope.

03:50am.

Harry wondered how long it had taken Bellatrix Lestrange to destroy the Longbottoms' minds.

Hogwarts, Headmaster's office, 04:20am.

"That's miles away!"

"What if she's wrong?"

"It's a bloody owl, for Merlin's sake! It probably just found an extra-juicy frog or something!"

"We have to do something!"

"Please, Sir! She's his familiar! She's never let him down before!"

"What if it's a trap?"

"We do this!"

"No way! It's madness!"

"If there's a chance, no matter how slim, that we can get Harry and Severus back alive, then we take it!"

05:20am.

Harry's ears were ringing. Every muscle ached, and Voldemort hadn't even touched him yet.

"S…sir?" he asked the spasming figure on the floor. No answer. He didn't have the will to even cry anymore. He also seemed to be having auditory hallucinations. It almost sounded as though some kind of battle was taking place, muffled and far away.

"Harry!" a loud echoing yell from the other side of the door.

Great. Never mind Snape, he thought. I've already gone mad.

"Harry, it's Remus! Are you there? Severus!" Banging on the door. Harry, suspecting one of Voldemort's schemes, said nothing.

"Kingsley! I think it's this one! Help me blast the door!" A tremendous explosion. Clouds of dust cleared to reveal two figures, shrinking back from the cell, presumably from the intense smell of vomit and blood, then Remus was releasing his bonds and bombarding him with questions which he had no strength to answer. At the sensation of being hugged, Harry finally accepted that they had been rescued, and allowed the relief to flood through his exhausted body.

"Sonorus! HEALERS!" bellowed Auror Shacklebolt, kneeling unhopefully next to Snape.

"Is he…" Remus asked tentatively. Kingsley shook his head.

"There's a pulse, but it's pretty feeble. Where are those Mediwizards?" he strode out into the corridor, then gave an exclamation of surprise. Remus turned, and suddenly found himself flat on his back, a powerful silver hand wrapped around his throat, throttling him, scorching his lycanthropic flesh.

…….The magical history books record that moment as the turning point.

Rage flooded through Harry. So pure and intense that he didn't need to move a muscle. Wormtail was lifted neatly into the air, then exploded into tiny fragments of flesh, which splattered everything in the cell. The silver arm rattled onto the stone floor then rolled away. Kingsley staggered in, trying to shake the effects of some curse of Pettigrew's and looked up at Harry.

"Did you do that?"

"Yes."

"How? Do you have your wand?"

"No. I'm a just a teensy little bit annoyed."

"I see."

A healer in the St. Mungo's uniform rushed into the cell, kneeling between the moaning Remus and the motionless Snape. Tears were coursing down her face as she unshrank her bag and began unpacking emergency potions.

"Dumbledore's dead! We've all got to get out of here! They were duelling like mad and he got hit in the shoulder by a blasting curse. He stumbled and You-know-who just picked him off. The old auror too!"

Voldemort's earlier words echoed in Harry's head. "It ends here." Damned right it does. His legs were weak as he stalked up the corridor, but he was determined. He the felt deadly raw magic pulsing through him, the sparks flying from his eyes as thought after terrible thought flashed through his head. He had killed Pettigrew. Because of Voldemort, he was a murderer. Well, he'd done it once, he was going to do it again. It all boiled down to Voldemort. His whole life had been lived in that terrible shadow. His parents. Sirius. Cedric. Neville's parents. Madam Rosmerta. Mrs. Weasley's brothers. Hermione's dad. All the other poor fools who had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Remus and Snape lying wounded, perhaps fatally, in that horrible square room.

Marching up a staircase, he bumped into a bloody-nosed Tonks and another healer heading down to the dungeon.

"Harry, oh thank goodness…" he brushed her aside, not even slowing his pace. "Wait!" she yelled, "You can't go up there! Dumbldore's dead and Voldemort's…!" He didn't listen, but carried on until he reached a sort of entrance hall. They were in a derelict house somewhere in the countryside by the looks of it. The walls were crumbling and the roof had caved in completely. Harry took in the sight of Mad-eye Moody, horribly burnt and lifeless in the front doorway, a few unidentified people taking cover behind the door. Dumbledore managed to look venerable even in death, one scorched arm lying gently by his side, the other folded over his chest, still holding his wand.

Voldemort, standing triumphant in the centre of the room, drew himself up to his full height on seeing Harry, and launched into one of his speeches.

"Well, well. So the two greatest wizards of the age, face to face at last. We, who were abandoned by those who now fear us; we, who…"

Harry was not in the mood to listen. He was so angry now his feet were not even touching the floor. Without a word he unleashed every scrap of emotion bursting inside of him at Voldemort, feeling the world flash green with a tremendous roar of magical energy. Like Wormtail moments before, The Dark Lord was catapulted into the air and blasted to smithereens, shaking the building to its foundations.

A heavy whisp of smoke was curling through the shimmering air in the silence immediately afterwards. With some vague idea that this was Voldemort's soul, searching for a new place to rest, Harry threw his every last remaining fragment of strength towards it. It disintegrated with an inhuman scream, vanishing for ever into the ether.

05:35am.

It was over. It had ended here. He had done it! Harry sank to the floor as Bill Weasley and Professor McGonagall dashed from the doorway to catch him.

"I did it," he slurred at them smugly, before losing consciousness.

…………………………………..

A/N: I am such a drama queen. Poor Severus!

Thanks for reading, and thank you, lovely reviewers. x

Hopgoblen: A kneazle is a magical pet rather like a large, super-intelligent cat. See "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them" by Newt Scamander ;-)


	6. Boundaries

Remus invited himself over again the following Sunday afternoon, delighted to be able to bring the first raspberries of the season for them to share. Severus had accepted the bag and handed it to his house elf, and a few minutes later they appeared on a tea tray with freshly baked scones and soured cream. Snape assembled scone, cream and berries with scientific precision and savoured every delicate mouthful before humming his approval, complimenting Remus.

"Green fingers."

Remus blushed and muttered something about his garden being in an ideal spot for raspberry bushes.

"Indeed," Severus acknowledged, in his low whisper, "Yet growing octurvice requires no small amount of skill. The specimens you brought last week were excellent."

"Oh, I'm glad they were useful! May I ask what you used them for?"

"For everything," he sipped his tea as though that closed the subject.

"Everything?" Remus pushed, knowing that the other wizard spoke as infrequently as possible, but unable to curb his curiosity. Snape gave a little impatient gesture with his hand.

"All the experiments I have been unable to conduct for the want of octurvice, naturally."

"You have a lab here?" Nod. "May I see it?"

Snape gave him a calculating look, and Remus realised that he had encountered another boundary. The inner sanctum. The place where Severus had an important purpose in the eyes of the world, despite the disabilities which made normal life so difficult. Thinking about the terrible injuries they had both sustained, Lupin adjusted his silk scarf, wondering if the potions master found it hard to trust people since his capture. No, scratch that, he had never trusted people. Not on the Hogwarts Express thirty years ago and not during the intervening years. Perhaps Voldemort, but look where that trust had got him. Probably Dumbledore, but Dumbledore was dead. It's a huge step for him just having tea with me, thought Remus, suddenly humbled by the realisation. He was about to retract the request and change the subject, when his sharp ears managed to catch the ghost of a reply.

"Perhaps."

Remus beamed.

…….

That blasted werewolf was back for the third Sunday in a row.

Severus was not about to admit, even to himself, that he had actually been looking forward to the visit. It was merely a form of therapy, an anchor to stop him forgetting the few social skills he had. He rolled his eyes at the subconscious use of the word "therapy". He hated that word. In fact, over the last three years it had overtaken long standing rivals "werewolf", "marauder" and "Snivellus" as his least favourite word ever. Physiotherapy. Hydrotherapy. Magitherapy. Speech therapy. And the worst of the worst, the evil, roaring, screaming, sucking, soul annihilating demon itself, Psychotherapy. He shuddered. How dare they? Literally adding insult to injury by trying to smash their way into his mind, trampling through all his carefully filed emotions like a herd of nifflers in a jewellery shop. If something was being repressed, it was for good reason; what did they know, the simpering, know-it-all, good for nothing, oxygen thieving….

"Severus?" Remus' golden eyes were wide with concern.

"My apologies, Lupin," he managed to drag himself back to the present.

"Are you feeling ill? Can I do something?" he had taken Severus by the arm and led him to an armchair. "If you would rather I went home…"

"No!" it came out with more force than he intended. "Merely a runaway train of thought."

"Look, Severus, if I'm crowding you by barging in here…"  
"You are not." He took a deep breath and looked at the floor. "Stay. I had allowed myself to become agitated over some unpleasant recollections. I am quite recovered now."

Remus seemed to accept his explanation, no doubt having enough bad memories of his own to understand. He remained sitting on the arm of the chair, a hand resting comfortingly on his shoulder. Snape found himself unable to shrug off the contact, and surprised himself by actually leaning in towards Lupin, who brought his whole arm around the slytherin's shoulders in a loose hug. Neither spoke for half an hour or more, content to sit together in the summer afternoon stillness.

After a while the kneazle crept in, immediately flying into a temper at Lupin.

"Oh, do stop it," chastised Snape.

"I think she's trying to protect you." Remus addressed the creature, "I'm not hurting him, look." He stroked Snape's shoulder tenderly to demonstrate. "See?"

Apparently reassured, the kneazle jumped into her chair, stretched every limb with a feline indulgence and lay down to sleep. Remus was about to make a comment when he noticed two spots of pink on the other man's cheekbones, and realising what he'd just done, cleared his throat and moved to the window seat. This time, the silence was not so pleasant.

Fortunately, Josty appeared with the tea. Sensing the tension she plucked up the nerve to speak.

"Begging pardon, Master Snape, Sir, but Josty is noticing how nice the view to sea is looking today, when Josty is out gathering mint. Please be excusing Josty for impertinence, but Master's friend be living _inland_ she be thinking."

Remus noted the elf's Cornish accent with a smile, and also the distaste with which she spoke the word "inland".

"That's right, Josty. In Derbyshire. About as far inland as you can get." He had never seen a house elf sneer before, but he supposed anyone would pick up the skill after a lifetime of serving Snapes. The creature turned with some insistence towards her master.

"Master Snape must take his friend to the cliffs!"

"There is no need, Severus, if you aren't well," began Remus, stopping as she began prodding him in the elbow with a bony finger.

"Well! Of course Master Snape is being well! You is going to the cliffs!" Remus was unused to such aggression from an elf. Severus clearly was not.

"Very well, Josty. Would you pack us something to eat?"

Josty disappeared with a satisfied pop.

The two wizards regarded each other across the room. Between the kneazles, house elves and werewolves, both concluded to themselves that Severus' life was not so very lonely anymore.

…….

By the fourth visit, they had settled into a routine. Tea, discussion about potions or the latest news from Remus' friends, then a slow walk on the cliffs. Severus paused frequently, particularly on the way back, but didn't seem to be in pain.

"My knee does not hurt much," he whispered, reading Remus' thoughts, "It is merely weak. Without the support of a cane it collapses and deposits me on the ground."

"How undignified," deadpanned Remus. Snape glared, but relaxed into a small smile almost immediately.

"Indeed."

They paused at a nice sunny spot, sitting on a lichen-covered rock looking out to sea. Remus was rapidly falling in love with the view. A blue-green transparent sea rolled beneath the jagged grey cliffs, sometimes sparkling as the crest of a wave caught the sun. Seagulls whirled through the salty air, and from time to time a large wave would surge up the splintered rocks to their right hand side, exploding upwards with a boom of white spray. It took the "inlander"'s breath away.

"Do you always wear the scarf?" With the gulls, the waves and the wind, Remus only just caught the question. His hand reached up to his neck of its own volition.

"Not if I'm alone."

"You dislike reminding people of your burn?"

"No. Well, yes, I suppose so. It's mostly because it's so ugly."

"May I see?" It was Snape's turn to test the boundaries. Correctly guessing that no one had been allowed to see Lupin's neck since he left hospital, he felt rather proud of himself when the werewolf slowly undid his scarf and leaned over to show him. Never having seen a silver burn before, he was intrigued by the blistered, red flesh, and asked several professional questions about the injury and the potion used to heal it.

"You said it was worse at full moon?"

"Yes. But probably because all my senses are heightened at that time. Do you mind if I put this back?" He held up the scarf. Snape nodded, lost in thought behind his glasses.

Misinterpreting his sudden distance, Remus felt deflated.

"I told you it was ugly," he muttered, his shoulders sagging as he saw Snape's revulsion.

"Hmm? Ugly? Oh yes, it is ugly," his mind was still far away, but on catching a glimpse of the other's distraught expression he snapped back to reality. "All of us carry scars, Lupin," he said gently. "But you could never be ugly."

Remus knew he was being rather pathetic, but he couldn't help demanding reassurance.

"Really?" he asked hopefully.

Severus did not answer for a few distressing moments. Then he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on the griffindor's forehead.

"Really."

……..

A/N: Awwww!

Thanks for the reviews for the previous, nasty bit.(Glad you liked it, Muriel) I hope you'll agree that after all the horror, they deserve this bit of fluff!

Oh yes, the part I grossed out about last time was the kneecap torture (shudder).

Hopgoblen: Oops, didn't intend for Harry to come across as a "dick head"! I suppose it's easier to write the grown-ups. Will stick to them in future ;-)


	7. Just a Kiss

Warning: Character death, non-gruesome, non-violent, non-explicit. But there's some fluff too!

Remus had been trying to wipe the adoring smile off his face all morning. For goodness' sake, it had been the tiniest peck, the lightest brush of lips against forehead, he told himself. He certainly got bigger kisses from Molly, Hermione, Ginny and the rest of his female friends, but when he stopped (about every five minutes) to consider the significance of getting any display of affection from Prof. Severus Alexander de Carvel Snape, FIMP (d'Or), OM (2nd), he reasoned it must be the equivalent of a houseful of red roses and a double page declaration of obsessive adulation in the Daily Prophet from anyone else.

He was unsure at which point he had begun to entertain ideas of Severus as being more than a friend. He had been ignoring the notion, he realised now, as the likelihood of his feelings being reciprocated was virtually non-existent. But what exactly were his feelings? Admiration, certainly. Fondness, definitely. Curiosity, absolutely. Attraction, oh yes. Love? Hmm. Bit early to know. But there was an undeniable feeling of warm gooeyness whenever he thought of that kiss. And Severus obviously felt something too. But was it enough to begin a relationship with? Sirius would tell him to stop overanalysing everything and just go with the flow. Well, after he had expressed revulsion, outrage and incredulity at Remus for entertaining feelings for that Slimy Slytherin Snake, that is. Dear Sirius. How would he have coped with peacetime? Not very well, Remus suspected, the words "peace" and "Sirius" were rarely spoken in the same sentence. What if…

"No," he said aloud to himself. "No "what ifs"." Allowing himself some time to think of Sirius, he slipped on his gardening shoes and went to visit the Bishop.

Amidst the jungle of bindweed, litter and thorns that constituted the garden at Grimmauld Place, Remus had discovered a bright red dahlia standing stiffly upright, disdaining the untamed chaos surrounding it. Fascinated by the vivid beauty of the flower, Remus had enlisted Sirius' help to identify it, leafing through the huge gardening volumes in the Black library. Grumbling good-naturedly about poofs and flowers he had complied, having nothing better to do, and after a few hours the blood red bloom had been revealed to be a Bishop of Llandaff. Sirius found this hilarious.

"It's named after some Taffy god-botherer!" he had howled with laughter.

Sirius did not 'do' gardening, considering it a pastime for old women and woofters, yet stuck in that awful house, unable to leave or do anything useful for the cause, he found himself tending to the Bishop every day. He cut back the brambles threatening to choke it, checked it had enough water and sunlight, even spread hippogriff manure on the stony patch of soil it was growing in. Remus supposed there was some metaphor there, about a rose amongst the thorns or something, Sirius growing up as a griffindor good guy in the twisted House of Black.

The Bishop had been the only thing Remus had removed from that house after the war. It was now thriving in a sunny corner of his own garden, a violently colourful memorial to his graveless dead friend.

He was deep in thoughts of the past as he knelt in the flowerbed, tugging at a few weeds when he heard the chimney whistle, telling him someone was trying to fire call. Straightening up and dashing inside, he was surprised to hear Severus' voice in the sitting room, hoarsely whispering his name.

"I'm here! Sorry, I was in the garden. Are you all right?"

Snape's usually impassive face was showing signs of upset. He spoke with some urgency.

"Are you busy? May I come through?"

"Of course. Is something wrong?"

The floo flared for a second, and Severus appeared. Taking a step forward, his bad knee buckled, dumping him inelegantly on the hearthrug. Remus reached around his shoulders to help him up and was surprised to feel arms slide around his waist and cling on tightly. He was shaking, which Remus found alarming, but he said nothing, simply returning the hug which was obviously needed. After a few minutes the grip relaxed slightly, and Snape said the very last thing Lupin expected.

"Do you have any chocolate?"

"Always," smiled the werewolf gently, summoning some from the kitchen. After a few bites, Snape stopped shivering and allowed himself to be helped over to the sofa.

"Forgive me, Lupin, for that terrible display of incapacity."

"Not at all. You worried me. What happened?"

He took another bite of chocolate and whispered,

"Azkaban."

"What? What on earth were you doing in….oh. Oh I see. You went to see Malfoy."

Snape nodded, shivering again.

"This was not my first visit to the island. For some reason I was very badly affected on this occasion. I felt unable to return home alone. I hope I have not inconvenienced…"

"Of course not, Severus. You are welcome here anytime you wish." Unsure if the potions master would want to discuss what had obviously been an unpleasant experience, Remus began, "I read in the Prophet that his final appeal failed. There really is no chance he'll escape the Kiss now?"

"None whatever. His lawyers have tried every last possibility over five years. They have dragged up every ancient decree and loophole in the legal world. The only thing which will keep him from being kissed is death itself." He shuddered again, an strange expression passing over his face as he uttered the word 'death'. "It should take place tomorrow."

Remus had no idea what to say. He knew that Severus and Lucius Malfoy had been close in the past, a complicated relationship which he could not begin to understand. He did know, however, that Severus did not disagree with the sentence, having witnessed first hand the atrocities of which that beautiful demon was capable. He also knew that Snape had spent a few terrible days in the hellhole jail leading up to his own murder trial at the end of the first war. He was going to need more than chocolate to recover this afternoon.

"He asked me to go," Snape volunteered in his breathy voice, "He was allowed one final visitor. Naturally he asked Draco and Narcissa first, but they both refused. Everyone else was either killed or kissed years ago."

That part Remus could understand. His contemporaries were dead, too, mostly killed by Severus' Death Eater ex-cronies, actually. But that was the nature of war, and the bottom line was that they had both survived. They both owed it to those who had fallen to make as much as they could from their precious years of life, Remus believed. He moved to sit next to Severus. Gently he pulled the other wizard into a comforting warm embrace, and was by equal measures pleased and saddened when he felt the other shaking with silent little sobs. Again Remus was thrilled to be privy to an emotional display from the most undemonstrative man he knew. Severus Snape was crying.

…….

The following morning, Remus was humming cheerfully as he ate breakfast on his sunny terrace. The bond between himself and Severus was getting steadily stronger, and whatever that feeling fuzzy feeling in his stomach was called, he decided he liked it very much. When he opened the newspaper, the good mood vanished with such suddenness his mug of tea crashed to the floor, shattering wetly on the stone slabs. Mouth gaping open, he began to read the main story.

**Malfoy Found Dead in Azkaban Cell.**

**Last Death Eater Suffers Heart Attack Hours Before Execution.**

_Condemned murderer Lucius Malfoy was found dead at 3:55 this morning by Azkaban wardens. The 46 year old Death Eater was due to receive the Dementor's Kiss later today after his final appeal was rejected on Friday, following several years of legal wrangling over his conviction. A post-mortem examination was carried out immediately, revealing the cause of death as heart failure, sometime between one and two o' clock._

"_Earlier prison medical tests failed to show any natural conditions. The last one was carried out two weeks ago, the results show Mr. Malfoy was in perfect health," said Ministry spokeswoman Dolores Umbridge, "Yet the Magicoroner is satisfied that no unnatural potions or spells contributed to his death. The Ministry would like to comment that…"_

Remus did not care what the Ministry wanted to say. His mind was reeling. Severus. He had to see Severus. Dashing through to the sitting room he called his name through the fire a few times, before Josty appeared.

"Josty! Where's Severus? Is he all right?"

"Master Lupin, Sir, Master Snape is gone to Milan. He is looking fine to Josty. Is there being bad things happening? Is you worried about Master?"

"Milan? He's gone to see Draco?"

"Yes, Sir, I is thinking."

Lupin frowned as a vicious little thought began forming in the back of his mind. He tried to damp it down, but found it just got stronger. Newsprint flashed before his eyes: no medical conditions. So why would Malfoy just drop dead? No potions had been found in his system, but what about something untraceable? Stop it. Don't think that! Remus Lupin you will NOT think that. Oh Merlin, oh Merlin, he saw him just yesterday afternoon. Calm down, breathe, calm down. In. Out. In. Out. In.

Right.

"Josty?"

"Yes, Master Lupin, Sir?"

"When did Severus leave for Italy?" Please say this morning, please say this morning.

"About six o'clock yesterday evening, Sir. Master is going right after he is getting home from Master Lupin's house."

Remus sank into the chair nearest the fire. Was he being stupid? Was his imagination running wild? He could not shake the memory of the look on Severus' face when he said that only _death_ would spare Lucius from having his soul ripped from his body. He was certainly capable of brewing an untraceable poison, one which would stop the heart from beating in the manner of a cardiac arrest. But could he administer it to his old friend? Had he seen it as a mercy killing? Or had Malfoy secretly asked him for it, as a last "fuck you" to the Ministry?

Then again, he could have gone to see Draco and Narcissa to tell them about his innocent visit to the prison. He could have gone to offer emotional support to the young man he was so fond of on the day his estranged father's body became an empty shell. Lucius could have gone to pieces on having to finally accept his fate. Remus was sure that neither human guard nor dementor would have come running with a paper bag if he had started having a panic attack in the middle of his last coherent night on Earth. After all, people drop dead all the time. Don't they?

Remus hoped so.

……

A/N: Ooh look at all my reviews! On Monday my inbox was full of them – what a fabulous birthday present! Thank you so much x


	8. Reflection

The air was warm and still, the only sound coming from a few cicadas dotted around the gardens. The hushed atmosphere felt very odd, compared with the two previous occasions when Severus had visited and the sound of laughter had chimed like the clinking of glasses across the hillside, the Count's seven children, five grandchildren, innumerable friends and new wife filling the picturesque district with light and life. Tonight's silence felt respectful, and Severus was glad of it.

He was sitting on a low stone wall, staring down the slope towards the lights of the great city rumbling below them. To his left, Draco had not stirred for half an hour. They had said all there was to say over the last 24 hours. There had been anger, regrets, relief, grief, sadness, accusations and questions, questions, questions. Schooldays, Death Eater days, the day of Draco's birth, the last visit to the prison. A turbulent sea of emotions had borne them both along for a sleepless night and a slow-motion day, now leaving them shipwrecked into exhausted silence.

Lucius was really gone, he could accept it now. On his visit to the grimy prison cell, Lucius had received him with the dignity of a king granting an audience, five years of suffering and deprivation unable to tarnish the silver-blond hair, to dull the sharpness of the blue eyes. After he dismissed Snape from their final interview, the corridors had seemed narrower, the doors thicker and the dementors nearer than they had been on the way in. Overwhelmed by panic and horror he had thrown himself towards Remus Lupin, using his comforting presence like a Patronus to stave off the darkness. Weeping like a child whilst sprawled pathetically on the floor, he had felt more content during those minutes in Lupin's arms than ever before.

So, that was it, he had finally learned to rely on other people. After a life of solitude and independence, Severus had awoken one day in St. Mungo's to find his voice lost, his body incapacitated and both his former mentors – the dark and the light – dead. Recovery had used a positive army of good people, giving their time and energy in order to help him. They had ignored the foulest disfigurement in the wizarding world branded indelibly into his left arm, and treated him, fed him, talked to him, soothed him, even helped him to perform basic bodily functions, just because they cared about an injured fellow human being. Not because they wanted anything from him. And he had learned to accept their assistance, and even to ask for it when necessary. Now as that blasted werewolf seemed so keen on invading his life, it was within his human rights to request a little comfort.

He was pleased to realise that he had been able to _give_ comfort too, that day on the clifftop, when Lupin had fretted over the disfigurement of the silver burn. It had been strangely satisfying when he had transformed the miserable demeanour into a radiant smile, simply by giving him a kiss. Who could have imagined? Being kissed by the ugly and unreservedly nasty Severus Snape could lift a person's blues and make them glow? Severus decided he like seeing the blasted werewolf glowing. It made him glow too. Just a little bit.

Footsteps crunched on the immaculately raked gravel behind them, reminding Snape where he was. He turned to see the concerned face of the Count's niece Luisa, hovering as though unsure whether to approach. He beckoned her forward. She smiled gratefully, helping him to his feet and taking his place on the wall next to Draco. After a few steps, he looked back to see a blond head resting on her shapely shoulder. He readjusted his hold on his cane, and made his way out into the Milanese night.

…….

"Lupin?"

"Oh! Severus. Come through."

He was rather pleased to note that Lupin had moved close to the fireplace this time, catching him just as he started to fall. The feeling faded slightly as he saw they were not alone.

"Hello Professor! How nice to see you! This is my boyfriend, Matthew."

A tall, bespectacled youth was shaking his hand firmly, and the bushy-haired know-it-all who boasted Hogwarts' highest NEWT grades since his own was leading him to the sofa.

"An honour to meet you, Sir. Hermione speaks very highly of you and your work."

Fighting his first instinct of hexing them both into next week for simply existing, he managed to whisper "how do you do", as Lupin fetched another teacup from the kitchen.

"I'm studying potions at the IMP this year as part of my healer training, Sir, you're quite the legend around there!"

Lupin had obviously noticed the scowl on his face and thrown a look to Granger, who suddenly stood and tugged on so-called Matthew's arm. They took their leave politely, and with a final,

"Take care, Professor," from the bright young witch, he was sitting in a restful silence with the blasted werewolf.

Well, Snape was finding the silence restful, Lupin seemed a little agitated. He fidgeted for five minutes before managing to say quietly;

"I read the paper. I'm sorry about Malfoy." Snape nodded.

"I was with Draco when we received the news."

"Oh!" Lupin was definitely jumpy. Snape wondered why. They had both witnessed so much death and destruction, why should this be bothering him?

"However, as sorry as I am, I cannot pretend that death is a worse fate than receiving the Kiss." Somehow that had been the wrong thing to say, Lupin spilled his tea onto his lap and leaped out of his seat, muttering about getting a cloth. Griffindors, Severus rolled his eyes, does no one bother teaching them cleaning spells? Evidently not, judging by the state of most of them.

Lupin had returned, apologising again. Worry was wrinkling his brow, and the amber gaze was assessing Snape, searching his face for something. Severus was a little confused, but was too exhausted to make sense of it now. Thinking of the way he had managed to calm Lupin before, he leaned over and kissed his lips.

"Is something the matter, Lupin?" he asked softly. The werewolf's eyes widened and he froze for a second, but to Snape's intense relief the glow returned, and he smiled shyly.

"No, Severus. Well, nothing important, anyway."

They kissed some more. Gentle, comforting kisses, which sent tingles through them both. Snape found he was barely able to keep his eyes open, slumping backwards on the sofa with an apologetic sigh.

"I suppose you didn't get much sleep last night, talking to the Malfoys."

"Absolutely none, I am afraid. My apologies. I would hate you to think I was bored by your kisses." Lupin blushed charmingly and blurted out;

"Why don't you stay here tonight?"

Snape raised a brow.

"I mean, just to sleep, you know. Um." It sounded like an excellent suggestion, and Snape found himself being carefully hovered up the stairs.

"I'm afraid the spare room is full of clutter. Though I could clear it if you like."

"I am sure your room will be fine," he reassured, watching carefully for Lupin's reaction. He was delighted to see the glow return, and remain as they settled down in Remus' double bed, a good foot of empty space between them. Remus closed the gap for a moment to give him one last feathery kiss.

"Good night, Severus."

"Good night, Remus."

As he had hoped, the unexpected use of his first name made Lupin blush again. Severus stared for a moment, memorising the lovely sight of the werewolf glowing and blushing because of him, imprinting it in his mind before he removed his glasses and muttered a quiet 'nox.'

…….

Remus lay on his back in the darkness, listening to the breathing of the amazing wizard lying next to him in his bed. Had he murdered Malfoy or not? Right at that moment, he found that he did not care. What difference did it make, really? Why was he worrying about the past, when the future was looking so promising? He smiled to himself. If only he could control that damn blushing…

…….

A/N: Did he or didn't he? Mwhahahaha.

I know I say this every time, but thank you to my reviewers, it really makes a difference when I hear what you think and I get all inspired to write more! (Gratuitous plug: If anyone's miffed that I killed off Lucius I apologise, and direct you towards my SS/LM slashfest "Study Sessions" which is a bit juicier than this one, teenage boys being naturally more sexual than middle-aged war veterans ;-)

Thanks Kat for the birthday greetings, thanks again to my lovely regulars x


	9. Summer Rain

The weather had been sunny and languidly hot for so many weeks, it was rather a shock when Remus was awakened by the gentle patter of summer rain on Sunday morning. Grey clouds stretched across the sky as he pulled on a waterproof and went to check on his garden, cutting him off from the wider horizon, obscuring the distant ragged outline of the Peak District in a damp white haze. The late summer flowers were looking battered and soggy, temporarily bowed by the weight of water, but hopefully not permanently damaged. The Bishop of Llandaff was standing defiantly upright, swaying in the slight breeze as though scorning its less robust neighbours. As usual, the sight of the red flower made Remus smile wistfully through the raindrops.

He stopped smiling as he reached the herb garden and found a sodden grey-green heap of slime where his octurvice bush used to be. As he knelt down to inspect it, the ruined foliage tried to shrink away from his hand, and he noticed it was making a miserable little keening sound, at odds with the joyous trilling of the garden birds.

"I'm sorry," he told it sadly. "I had no idea the weather would break like this." The plant wailed a little louder, tugging at Remus' heart. He hurried inside to consult 'On the Cultivation and Husbandrie of Rare and Exotick Magickal Flora', the only book he had found so far with any useful advice on octurvice.

"_When your octurvice does begin emoting in the manner of a man, be sure that it is indeed moribund and most lykely to die within the hour. A verily slender chance to thrive may be gleaned by the pruning of all leafage and bough waxing more than one inch atop the soil, but I counsel you that the distress demonstrated by the bush upon being attacked may lay the doughtiest horticultor low."_

Great. The plant was a drama queen. But he had to brave the hissy fit if it stood any chance of survival. He took a small sheet of tarpaulin and four short poles from the shed to make a shelter and set about removing the pulped leaves and dissolving branches, the octurvice sobbing and shrieking all the while. Honestly, thought Remus, the neighbours will think I'm butchering a cat. The anonymous author had been right though. The bush's final howls had left him feeling upset and slightly ashamed, as though he had committed some act of cruelty.

"It's for your own good," he told the stump grimly, speaking mostly to fill the deadly silence since the emergency surgery. All he could do now was wait and hope.

By the time he had attended to the rest of the battered garden, removed his muddy boots and trousers and warmed himself up with a steaming mug of coffee, it was noon and he was smiling in anticipation of his visit to Severus.

He was very pleased with the way their relationship was developing. Things progressed slowly, as fitted the cautious nature of the two wizards, but the attachment between them grew steadily stronger. They seldom saw each other more than once a week, sometimes staying the night but mostly not, though Remus found himself firecalling the Cornish house every evening before bed to share the details of his day and wish Severus goodnight. And Severus would smile a genuine smile without a trace of sarcasm or derision and bid him goodnight too. The thrill of hearing his given-name whispered by those thin, soft lips had not faded, and had recently managed to replace the anxiety dreams of the previous years with more pleasant and occasionally, more dirty visions.

At two o'clock, Remus was welcomed back to the Gatehouse with a kiss from Severus, who seemed pleased to see him. Something was different today, and it took the werewolf a moment to realise that he had always seen the sitting-room flooded with sunlight - outside the sky was as dark and rainy as it had been in Derbyshire, and the room seemed unusually grey and cold. Giving an involuntary shiver he wrapped his arms around Severus and squeezed, earning him a low chuckle and another kiss on the lips.

"Not so pleasant in the rain?"

Deliberately misunderstanding, Remus pulled back slightly to appraise the other man without letting go of his waist.

"No, just as pleasant," he grinned at his own silliness. Snape rolled his eyes and pushed him away with mock exasperation.

"I was referring to the house. It takes on a whole new persona in bad weather. You may find its gothic iciness too overbearing."

Enjoying himself, Remus continued to misbehave, again studying Severus intently before concluding;

"No, the gothic iciness is what I like best."

Snape turned away to hide his smile, muttering something which sounded distinctly like 'incorrigible Griffindor', and asked Josty for afternoon tea. The kneazle was dozing in her favourite chair, but a half-open eye and rotating ear followed the werewolf's every movement around the room until the elf arrived with a saucer of cream for her and a tray of tea and fruitcake for the humans. Apparently still conscious of the dingy atmosphere, Severus asked Josty to light a few candles on the mantelpiece and soon the room was bathed in a softer, dusky light.

"Feels like evening now, doesn't it?" observed Remus, helping himself to a large wedge of cake which was so delicious he gave a hum of surprise. Snape smirked.

"My grandmother's house elf developed the recipe. Apparently the secret is to soak the sultanas in black Earl Grey tea overnight," Josty appeared with a sudden pop and stood glaring right in front of her master, tiny hands on her hips. Snape was in equal parts amused, contrite and embarrassed. "Ah, Lupin, you will treat that information as confidential, I trust?" Josty turned a hundred-watt stare on him, flaring her nostrils threateningly.

"Of course," he placated with what he hope was a winning smile, "Believe me, I know how to keep a secret." Snape's face suddenly fell, and Remus was about to ask what was wrong when the elf interrupted with a sniff.

"Well, Josty supposes you is one of the family now anyways," she folded her arms across her chest and disappeared.

It was Remus' turn to feel torn between a mixture of emotions. This most private of men had accepted his former enemy as part of his life, making him some kind of honorary Snape, or so thought the one creature who had known him since birth. He wondered if Severus agreed, thinking of the way Mrs. Potter had loved to embarrass James by publicly declaring what she assumed were his private opinions. Nine times out of ten, James would have to admit to a hooting Sirius and giggling Remus that actually, she was right. Mothers were like that. From what he had managed to glean about Severus' childhood, Josty had raised him pretty much single-handedly and had been more of a parent than any blood-relative, or indeed, any human. Remus smiled shyly.

"Is that true?" he asked gently. The black eyes betrayed nothing as he answered.

"Would you wish to be associated with such a Dark band of reprobates? Murderers, torturers, wastrels, debtors, jailbirds, gamblers, inbreeds?" he paused and looked at the floor, before adding, "Death Eaters?"

Remus shrugged as casually as he could.

"Don't know about all the others. I've only met one Snape and none of those labels apply to him." Even his enhanced lycanthropic hearing had trouble catching the barely-breathed response above the soft patter of the rain outside.

"Some of them do."

Remus knew he was being subjected to a very important test. Desperate to pass, he thought carefully before replying.

"Perhaps. And yet, I have no wish to leave."

Severus had removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, it was a while before he spoke again.

"I cost you your position at Hogwarts by revealing your secret. I acted out of pure spite. There can be no excuse or forgiveness." Remus was immediately ready for this.

"That night I almost killed you. For a second time. Have you forgiven me for that?"

"Both incidents were Black's fault. There is nothing for which to forgive you. You, who have been nothing but kind and attentive to me since that time."

"Even if you had held your tongue, others would have guessed," he sighed, "They always do eventually. I thought we'd managed to put the concerns of the past behind us. We were doing well so far."

Snape shook his head, rubbing absently at his left forearm.

"The past is always with us. There can be no escape from it."

"You're right," Remus agreed, "But I put the bad times in the same category as my curse. Nothing can be done about either, but I force myself to look past them, to the future and all it may bring."

Severus' shoulders had sagged, and he seemed incapable of further speech. Remus knew his last comment had been rather trite, and sounded not unlike a Witch Weekly 'Happy Thought for the Week', but it had been the philosophy which had kept him going through a hundred different types of prejudice, self-inflicted wounds, painful transformations, the loss of his parents and friends, poverty, and various crashing disappointments. Severus had suffered in other ways but had also survived. Remus wondered what he had to cling to in order to cope with his own trials. A strange lapping sound at his elbow jolted Lupin from his thoughts, and he looked down to see the kneazle on the table next to his seat. Apparently still thirsty after finishing her own refreshment, she had sneaked over and begun drinking his tea. Feeling his eyes on her, she stared defiantly back and continued slurping, daring him to do anything about it.

When he looked up, Severus was grinning silently on the other side of the room. Relieved to feel the tension break, Remus raised his eyebrows haughtily.

"Professor de Carvel Snape, do you have _any_ control over the creatures in your house?"

"None whatever. I am constantly torn between the wishes of an elf, a kneazle and a werewolf." Remus giggled then immediately clapped his hand over his treacherous mouth. Why was the Potions Master making him so silly today? He tried to muster a patronising look of disdain, but when he spoke the words sounded as sincere as a promise.

"We do our best to take care of you."

To Remus' delight, it was Severus who was blushed this time. He swiftly replaced his black-framed glasses and let a few strands of black and white streaked hair fall in front of his face as he clicked his fingers to summon Josty. He spoke calmly in his ragged whisper, not looking at Lupin.

"Another teacup, if you would be so kind."

……

Against all odds, the octurvice bush survived. By the following Sunday, it had sent out a single grey-green shoot, as though testing the air before committing to any serious growth, and Remus was so relieved he had begun sitting next to it for a few minutes each day, whispering words of encouragement. Though he knew it was his imagination, he could feel some kind of ridicule radiating from the corner of the garden where The Bishop grew whenever he spoke to the other plant.

"I know," he grinned sheepishly, unsure whether he was addressing the dahlia or the lingering spirit of Sirius, " The first sign of madness."

"What is?" a very much alive and human voice asked cheerily from the back door.

"Talking to yourself is. How are you, Harry?" Remus straightened up and accepted a hug from the young man, the only person with unlimited access to Remus' house and garden.

"Fine," green eyes sparkled at him, "I just wanted to talk to you. Are you OK?"

"Yes, thank you. The rain almost did for my octurvice last weekend, but it seems to be fighting back now."

Harry frowned down at the stump underneath its protective tent.

"Octurvice? That's usually used in untraceable poisons isn't it?" Remus opened his mouth to answer but somehow no sound came out as a thought he had been trying to ignore swam back to the front of his mind. Harry didn't notice anything wrong and continued in a suggestive tone. "Speaking of poisons and potions, are you still seeing your tall dark Slytherin?" Remus swallowed. He was blushing again, dammit.

"He's not mine. But yes, we're still friends." Harry was grinning mischievously, clearly pleased with his reaction.

"Well I'm sure no one else wants him. Got any food? I'm starving!"

Harry was impressed with the selection of cheeses from the specialist shop in nearby Hartington, and set about them enthusiastically with home-baked poppyseed bread, home-grown tomatoes and generous dollops of Branston pickle.

"You haven't managed to grow your own pickle tree then?" he teased, through huge mouthfuls.

"Not yet," his acting-godfather deadpanned, "The cheese tree keeps dropping rounds of stilton on it."

Harry snorted and took a large swig from his Ribena, becoming serious for a moment.

"Remus?" he began, tracing the rim of his glass thoughtfully.

"What is it, Harry? Is something wrong?"

"No. Not wrong, really," he seemed to be searching for the right words. Ducking his head he burst out; "How do you know if a girl likes you?"

Remus smiled. At twenty one, Harry was a bit old to be asking this question, but then he had been occupied with more important matters for most of his teenage years.

"You went out with Ginny for a year. How could you tell she liked you?"

"That's different. We were friends more than anything else, and I'd known her for seven years. Friends who snogged occasionally. Neither of us expected anything to happen long-term. Hazel is different."

"Hazel?" Remus was intrigued now. He hadn't heard the name before. Or had he? He vaguely remembered a brown-haired girl at the Birthday party, delighted by some trick lollipops the Weasley twins were using on Neville. She hadn't seemed particularly close to Harry.

"She lives in Godric's Hollow. Was working at the Inn I stayed at during her summer vacation from University. We spent hours talking and playing bar billiards but we only kissed twice. Term started last week and she went back to Manchester, now I feel like I can't live without her. What do I do, Remus?"

"Well," Remus began, wondering what fatherly advice he could come up with. He had always been terrible at relationships, afraid of getting in too deep in case he was rejected later for his lycanthropy. He knew Harry had trouble forming romantic attachments because he clung to his friends like a replacement family, and new people he met could rarely see past the glittering legend surrounding his heroic defeat of Voldemort. He'd had problems with a gold-digger before too. Melanie something. Full of sisterly outrage, Hermione had punched her right across the Weasley's kitchen. Then something struck Remus. "Manchester University?" he asked.

"No, UMIST, Manchester Uni's science and technology college. Why?"

"She's a muggle?"

Harry became instantly defensive.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, not at all! Harry! You should know me better than that! But she doesn't know who you are? What you've done, I mean?"

"No. She guessed I was a wizard, Godric's Hollow is an integrated village so she's good at spotting who's who. I told her some of it after we became friends, what happened to my parents and stuff. She's been helping me with the house and the memorial garden. What if she thinks I was just a summer fling?" pleading eyes looked up at Remus, who smiled reassuringly.

"Ask to visit her in Manchester. If she says yes, go, have a fun weekend then ask if she wants a relationship."

"And if she says no?"

"Then there's your answer."

Harry threw his arms around Remus' neck, thanking him, and looking so much like the lovesick James that a lump appeared in the older man's throat. He pulled out his mobile phone and by the time he reached the hearth he was already speaking.

"Hold on a second, Haze, I'm going into a tunnel." The floo flared, and he was gone, leaving Remus dabbing his eyes like a proud but heartbroken mother-of-the-bride.

…….

Remus arrived at The Gatehouse to find Severus sitting at the desk in the corner of the library, engrossed in a pile of scrolls completely covering the surface and cascading down onto the floor. He looked up at Remus, then pointedly at the grandfather clock on the opposite wall.

"I know, sorry I'm late," he strolled over towards the desk and was a little perturbed when Severus quickly cast a spell to make the manuscripts roll up and tidy themselves away before he could see anything. "I was dispensing godfatherly advice. What are you reading?"

Severus glared, folding his arms across his chest when Remus stepped forward for a kiss.

"Nothing I wish to discuss." Remus looked so crestfallen he had to add; "The brat has woman trouble, I presume. Granger still sorting the wheat from the chaff with a fist of iron?" That seemed to cheer the blasted werewolf, the grin briefly returned to his face.

"You heard about that?"

"The slut sold the story to the Prophet. I seem to remember a deluge of letters the following day applauding Granger's actions."

"That's right. Well, I think Harry's fallen for a muggle girl this time." Remus chuckled, but still looked apprehensive. "Severus, are you angry with me?"

"Angry?" the Slytherin frowned, "No. When you failed to arrive at the usual hour I left the sitting room and returned to my papers. We made no formal agreement to meet at two."

"Oh," Remus felt rather foolish. They always met at two, he hadn't forgotten the rendez-vous, but had been so wrapped up in Harry he had lost track of time. "If you're not cross, may I have a kiss?"

Snape smiled and dropped his defensive pose to allow the kiss. When Remus started to pull back, he was pleased to find himself being held firmly in place and his mouth being explored with a good deal more passion than normal. Responding happily, it was a few delicious moments before he was forced to stop and take a breath.

"So you're not mad at me then?" he gasped, feeling himself blushing again. Snape helped himself to another deep kiss, his arms still locked tightly around Remus' waist before whispering next to his ear;

"Do I look mad?" Remus shook his head, taking in the bright black eyes, the heightened colour in the pale cheeks and the easy smile playing on his lips.

"No. You look delicious."

Severus gave a little tut of derision but said nothing, allowing Remus to rest his head on his shoulder with a contented sigh. Even more grey rain was rattling against the library window as they quietly enjoyed the feeling of warmth and closeness being generated indoors by the embrace.

"Wasn't raining when I left home," he murmured.

"You realise the weather prevents us from taking our walk again?" Remus smiled at the mention of 'our' walk along the clifftop, which had become a habit since the first stages of their relationship.

"We'll just have to entertain ourselves inside. What do you suggest, Severus?"

"Chess?"

"No, we've already established that it takes you twelve and a half minutes to beat me."

"Draughts?"

"Last time all the ornaments were blown off their shelves."  
"Diagonopoly?"  
"You buy Hogwarts and the Ministry then cackle evilly while I go bankrupt."

"Morgana's Missing Sixes?"

"I'm unlucky at cards."

"Squabble?"  
"Your dictionary's biased in your favour."

"Sex?"

Remus' breath caught in his throat. Had he just misheard? One glance at the look in Severus' eyes confirmed that he had not. The three letter word was resonating in Remus' ears, Snape's breathy velvet voice as he formed it already having had an effect on his heartbeat and ability to think. He managed to keep his voice level as he leaned back slightly, stroking his chin as he pretended to think.

"Hmm. It's been a while since I played that one, you'll have to remind me of the rules."

Severus' smirk was now positively predatory as he bent down and kissed him wetly on the lips, then travelled slowly down the chin and along the jawbone until he reached an ear, where he paused to whisper;

"The way I play, Lupin, there are no rules."

…….

A/N: A few Brit-isms some readers may not be familiar with, excuse me if this is not the case. Ribena – delicious blackcurrant drink and only acceptable beverage to Snape's Nightie when small (on pain of tantrum). Branston pickle – delicious sweet pickle SN and Bridget Jones have both been known to eat on its own with a teaspoon. Manchester – fab town in NW England with particularly rocking student life. The Cheese Shop in Hartington/Peak District – Derbyshire tourist attractions also enjoyed by locals, the first cool and smelly, the second cool and pointy.

Thanks again for the incisive reviews, I love you all for sticking with me!

Excessivelyperky – I think that is probably the most literary review on FF! Thank you. There is no way Severus would have turned down LM's last request to go and visit, it's a matter of Slytherin honour.

Silverthreads – judging by most fanfics, wizards and witches are sexually active most of the time! (Not that I'm complaining, mind you, I love smut!).

Hopgoblen – thanks for your many nice comments on this and the others x


	10. Snippets

Follow-on snippet.

Creaking bedsprings. Snort.

"What's wrong, Severus?"

"Mph. This confounded knee! I can't manoeuvre!"

"You're doing fine. Look, if you roll over this way…ow!"

"What did I do? Oh, your silver burn. I am sorry."

"It's OK."

Snort. "Oh honestly. The state we are in! A couple of old men."

Giggle. "Severus, relax, we just need to find the right position."

"Ow, your elbow is on my hair."

"Sorry, Severus."

Grumble. "I used to be good at this."

Gasp. "Oh! You still are! Mmmm."

"Does that suit you, Remus?"

"Oh Merlin, yes! Yesss!"

"A little louder, Lupin. I believe two of the inhabitants of Penzance did not hear."

"…"

"Tsk. Such language. You deserve some form of punishment."

"Oh yes! Yes I do! Mmmm, Severus, I'm a very bad wolf!"

Cackle.

…….

Flashback snippets.

"Has he woken yet?"

"No, Headmistress, but the signs are good. He's making excellent progress."

"And his throat, goodness, it looks dreadful! Will he make a full recovery?"

"It's too early to say. The swelling is acute at the moment, but it should begin subsiding soon. We have created an artificial airway and all nutrition is being administered intravenously so nothing can aggravate the damage. Unfortunately, lycanthropes require different potion solutions from regular humans. There is someone at the Institute of Master Potioners making adjustments to an experimental poultice, it should be ready in a few days. Not many healers or potion masters take an interest in werewolf biology, and this country's major wolfsbane expert is…well…"

"I know, Healer Indictor. I've already been up to see him."

Pause. "We tend not to discuss patients details. I understand he was under Cruciatus for a very long time?"

Sharp intake of breath. "We believe so. Harry is currently incapable of telling us what happened, poor wee mite."

"So we still don't know exactly what You-Know-Who did to them?"

"Voldemort, Healer Indictor. Or Tom Riddle, if you cannot manage that. No need to let his legend live on."

"Er, yes, Headmistress. Vvvoldemort."

"Good. I greatly fear for Severus. He does not respond to any stimuli."

Pause. "I'm sorry. About Professor Dumbledore, too. The war has taken its toll."

"But it's over now."

"For most people, yes."

…….

"Sir…" long pause. "It's weird, professor. It's like no words in this language can accurately describe what happened. They're all very nice. They come, and they don't bombard me with questions or anything, but I'm at a loss. They ask if I want some juice and I can't even say 'yes', I just have to nod. Hah. They'd be shocked to hear me rabbiting away to you like this, when I can't even say hello to Hermione, and I can't bear to be in the same room as Remus. But you were there. You _know._" Pause.

"If you were awake, you'd tell me to buck up and stop being so melodramatic. I'm trying, really. I think I'm doing fine until someone tries to make me speak, then all of a sudden I'm gaping stupidly at them." Pause.

"You were so brave. Everything he did to you, you just took it as calmly as you could. You were bloody amazing, sir. I suppose you've been told about your Order of Merlin? I've got one too. It's nice I suppose, but somehow it's just a chunk of metal, given by some ignorant politicians who've spent the whole war sitting behind a desk, so I can't get very excited about it." Pause.

"Your physical injuries are healing nicely, they told me. Well, except for the knee. I don't know if you remember what Riddle did to it, but it was…" shudder, "…really, really horrible. Made me throw up. But you're not the kind of person to let something like that slow you down. I wish you could see all the cards and gifts on your bedside table. There's a huge thing here signed by hundreds of people at IMP, it's amazing. And the bouquet of sunflowers, just signed from 'D'. I reckon I know who that's from. Skipped the country apparently, with his mum." Pause.

"I can't believe Professor Dumbledore's dead. He seemed so powerful, then to just see him lying there on the floor, mown down by only two curses, it was really shocking. Sorry if I'm boring you. I hope you can hear me. I know it must hurt, and probably the memories are so horrible that you want your brain to switch off for ever so you don't have to keep going through it, but please don't give up. Don't let him win. He's done so much damage already, you're much more to this world than just another statistic. I haven't phrased that very well, I hope you know what I mean. It's all so confusing. I'm going now. Take care, Professor."

Door clicks shut.

…….

Go away go away go away don't touch me I hate you I hate this I hate everything it hurts so much go away I can't stand it don't touch me get away from me get away from me why won't it stop? Why won't it STOP!

"Kerry, hold him, he's getting frantic again."

"Professor? Can you hear me?"

"His heart rate's too high."

"Fever's back too."

"It's OK Professor, take it easy. You're safe now."

"Pin his arms down before he hurts himself again."

Let go let go let go go away please go away I hate you why can't you just leave me alone why do you keep hurting me just leave me I don't want this just let me die so it can stop. Want it all to stop.

…….

"What will you do now, Harry?"

"I want to do some more research about being an auror. I don't know if that's right for me just yet though. I think I've had enough of dark wizards and danger for now. Perhaps I'll help Fred and George with the joke shop."

"Those are two very different options!"

"I know. Remus, it's all so confusing. Ron and Neville were thinking of saving up and going travelling. I've never been out of this country, ridiculous isn't it? A murderer, a saviour, a decorated hero – all these huge events and I've never even been for a day trip to Paris."

"That sounds like a good idea. Where will you go?"

"Dean wants to go to Thailand. Ron's dead set on Australia. I don't see why we can't do both. Go to a beach!"

"You've never even been to the seaside?"

"Once. Mrs Figg was ill so the Dursleys had to take me with them to Brighton. It was so cool!"

"She said she was ill, did she?"

"Yes…oh! Hah hah! Fab, I must thank Arabella for that. The sea was freezing but it still felt good. Yes, I think some time away from everything will do me good."

"I think so, too. I haven't seen you laugh like that for ages. Oh, I forgot to tell you! Minerva was talking to Severus this morning, holding his hand and just chatting about nothing in particular, when he looked at her!"

"He responded!"

"Well, he just turned his head slightly and focussed his eyes on her face. I don't know if he understood what she said, but that's the first time he's reacted to anything."

"That's brilliant!"

"We shouldn't get too excited, Harry."

"I know. I've met Neville's parents."

Pause.  
"But it's still a good thing? Isn't it, Remus?"

…….

"May I see Severus?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, he's only allowed one visitor at a time. His nephew is with him at the moment."

"Nephew?"

"Yes. Er, David, I think he said. Handsome young man with black hair and a sharp suit. One of those Italian designer jobs, I should think."

Door clicks open. The hair is dyed, but the grey eyes are unmistakable.

"Hello, _David. _ How are you?"

"Hello. Well, thank you. You look terrible, sir."

"Getting better, bit by bit. Come to visit your _uncle?"_

"Yes." Quietly; "He's in a bad way, isn't he?"

"I haven't seen him yet. I hear he's much improved."

"Potter's owl found them?"

"Yes. Ridiculous isn't it?"

"Potter really killed the Dark Lord?"

"Yes. I didn't see it though."

"Oh."

Pause.

"You know why I can't stay, Professor Lupin?"

"Yes. I'll make sure he knows you were here."

"Thank you."

"Take care, D…David."

"I will. I hope the, er…"

"Burned throat."

"Right. I hope it gets better soon."

"Thank you."

…….

Follow-on snippets.

The rain was still pattering onto the windowpane, the dullness of the day making it hard for Remus to guess at the time. But the time wasn't important. Remus felt as though he had all the time in the world as he lay in Severus' bed, listening to the gentle snores of the man beside him as they drifted in and out of sleep together, both content, but neither accustomed to the presence of someone else. Severus' black and white streaked hair spilled over the pillow, dramatically framing his strong features and emphasising the long inky lashes lying against the pale cheeks.

Beautiful, thought Remus, why did I never notice before? Severus made a small sound in his sleep and snuggled slightly against his chest, making Remus smile and hold him closer, relishing the feeling of togetherness.

"Mine," he murmured quietly to himself, kissing Severus' forehead.

…….

Several hours later, Remus was watching Severus sip his tea, sitting up with his back against the headboard and a lovely debauched grace in his every movement.

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'?"

"Why are you looking at me in that way."

"Because you're amazing. And I think I love you."

"You are an idiot, Lupin."

"I know. But I'm your idiot. If you'll have me."

"In case it escaped your attention, I have already had you."

Snigger. "Ah yes. I wondered what you were doing."

Snort. "Fool."

"Yup."

"Do you intend to drink your tea?"

"No, I prefer watching you drink yours."

Snort. "Enough with the puppy dog eyes."

"What, these eyes?" blink blink.

"Yes, those. If you used that slimy greyish object between your ears, you would realise that 'come to bed' eyes are redundant in this instance."

"You're right. Well, what about 'come over here and fuck me' eyes?"

"I am drinking my tea, idiot cub."

"You are nearly finished."

"Perhaps I would care for another cup. And do not think your use of profanity slipped my notice just now."

Glinting amber eyes. "You're going to punish me again?"

"Naturally."

Severus suddenly found his cup and saucer had vanished, replaced with an armful of naked werewolf, kissing and nipping at his chest and stomach. Grasping Remus' chin with thumb and forefinger, he drew him upwards so their faces were level.

"Did you mean that?"

"What?"

"Do you love me?"

"Yes." Not a flicker of hesitation.

Severus' face softened, and he gently pushed Remus away, never breaking eye contact. He had to struggle to recall even one other occasion when he had heard those words, and the enormity of the moment made him feel slightly unwell. Worried, Remus opened his mouth to speak but slender fingers touched his lips, gently hushing him, and he was pulled back down into a fierce hug. Snape's heart was racing as various emotions battled to escape him, through his mouth, his eyes, showing on his face, and in desperation all he could do was cling to Lupin, his childhood tormentor, the one who had almost killed him, the epitome of Griffindor goodness, who now professed to love him. Love him! Him! This was too much to assimilate. He didn't notice the tears until he felt them being wiped away.

"I'm sorry, Severus. I didn't mean to upset you." Snape wanted to answer but found he could not speak. Remus looked upset as he stammered out, "You don't have to… I don't expect…"  
"Ssh," he managed. Still clasped firmly in each other's arms, they drifted back to sleep.

…….

It was Monday morning, and the sun had come out. Seagulls were shrieking through the air outside and Remus and Severus were lying on their sides facing inwards, fingers entwined and completely at peace with each other. Really, though Severus, I could stay like this forever. Lupin was always so kind and full of joy.

"Remus," he breathed. The werewolf smiled at him, eyes golden yellow in a shaft of morning sunlight, looking at him with what could only be described as adoration.

"Yes, my love?" His love, oh my. He was somebody's 'love'.

"Last night. When you said…" Severus was irritated by his own embarrassment, which seemed to amuse Remus.

"Yes?" he leaned forward and kissed him encouragingly.

"I… well, I became rather emotional. But…"

Suddenly he sat upright. Noises downstairs. Voices. No one came to the Gatehouse, except Remus. How very odd. With a small pop, Josty appeared in the room, wringing her hands and trembling with terror.

"Master Severus! Oh, sir! There is aurors downstairs. They is wanting to take you away!" Before either man could react, the bedroom door opened quickly but without banging, and in strode two calm aurors.

"Professor Snape?" asked the woman in her thirties. Neither Severus nor Remus recognised her from the war. Severus was pulled the sheet tight around himself, feeling vulnerable and embarrassed to have strangers see him in such a position.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Can you speak up, please, sir? Are you Professor Snape?"

Remus was angry now.

"Who are you?" he demanded. Both aurors showed their credentials. "Well, Auror Chiswick, Auror Phelps, as you would know had you undertaken the slightest amount of research, Severus lost his voice when he was tortured by Voldemort during the war."

"I see. And you are?" She was polite, but firm.

"Remus Lupin." The younger, male auror supplied, a strange expression on his face. Phelps? William Phelps from Ravenclaw, a bright DADA student whom he had taught at Hogwarts. The seventh year had nursed a thumping great crush on him – poetry, Valentine cards, the lot. "A werewolf," he added, with a hint of spite. Aha, so the young man was feeling betrayed by his former favourite teacher. Was he still upset about finding out Lupin's deadly secret from Slytherin gossip, or from just finding him in bed with the school's most hated member of staff?

Chiswick dismissed her junior's grudges as unimportant with a wave of her hand. But her next words turned Remus' blood to ice.

"Professor Snape, would you please dress and accompany us to the Ministry? We would like to ask you some questions regarding the death of Lucius Malfoy."

…….


	11. Friends and Enemies

The interrogation room was small and square with no windows, and vividly reminded Severus of the cell where the Dark Lord had imprisoned him and Potter three, no, almost four years ago. The association was making him nervous but he fought it as hard as he could hoping the aurors were not misinterpreting his unease. After hours of rapping out the same questions, Chiswick and Phelps had left him immobilised under the supervision of an eagle-eyed colleague, presumably afraid he would try to use some nefarious potion secreted about his person. There was something odd about young Phelps' attitude, and the name jogged his memory as being more than just an ex-student.

The situation was unbearable. He felt utterly powerless, yet again. Life had been going so well lately, his relationship with Remus had been a great source of comfort, and now this nonsense had spoiled everything, before he had even managed to tell the blasted werewolf how he felt. He had been a coward, a tongue-tied idiot, confused and too embarrassed to say that stupidly simple thing - "Remus, I love you", and now it was too late. He would probably never see Remus again.

The freezing charm was making his knee stiff, his throat ached from all the speaking they had forced him to do (not to mention the constant infuriating demands for repetition!), he was sticky and malodorous having been refused permission to shower before he was brought here, and the claustrophobic box of a cell seemed to be getting smaller with every creeping second. He was in big trouble. He now realised just how much he had relied on the protection of Dumbledore. He had been forgiven for his terrible mistakes, spared Azkaban, given a job and a home, and the old man had frequently defended him whenever he came under scrutiny from Fudge or his lackeys. But Albus was gone now. He was on his own. There was no one to help him.

…….

Toyle & Trubbil was a highly specialised potions ingredient shop, accessed via an inconspicuous green doorway on the deserted street corner where Diagon Alley tapered off into Knocturn Alley. Few lingered in that grey area, the jolly shoppers from Diagon finding the dinginess unsettling, the Knockturners shunning the revealing shafts of sunlight filtering in from their bustling neighbours' street. There was an ingredients shop in Diagon Alley, supplying most student and family potions requirements, and also one lurking in the murkier depths for the witches and wizards who kept their faces covered as they requested unsavoury items. Toyle & Trubbil was much smaller than either of these, stocking only the highest quality or rarest items for the IMP researcher or the true perfectionist.

The bell above the door tinkled as Chiswick and Phelps entered, flashing their credentials to the dark haired young witch behind the counter. She peered at them suspiciously.

"Our Licence to Sell Hazardous Magical Ingredients is fully up to date and the inspectors who came last month gave us a commendation for careful working practices," she stated before either of them could speak.

"I'm sure they did," commented Auror Chiswick in a friendly tone. "May I speak to one of the owners, please?" The girl called through a side door, wrinkling her pug-like face in apparent disgust. She hated Ministry officials. It was their fault she was reduced to working in a shop like some common wench, the powers-that-be having confiscated all her family's assets for alleged war profiteering – as though no one else had benefited from the war! The aurors had all been promoted, decorated. Shops and service providers had hiked their prices, and people had made a fortune selling protection amulets, gravestones, healing potions and in a hundred other ways. But they automatically resented the old Slytherin families, of course. The self-righteous hypocrites.

"Mr Toyle! It's the filth…I mean, two aurors want you!" She gave them a nasty smile and leaned against the wall, watching to see what happened.

A man of about sixty wearing a stained apron entered with a businesslike step, removing his elbow-length dragonhide gloves to shake their hands.

"Mr Toyle, we would like to see the documentation for all you recent sales of octurvice, please," Chiswick continued pleasantly.

"Octurvice?" he whistled through his stained teeth, "Haven't had any of that in for…ooh…must be a year now."

Phelps raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"And why is that? I thought this shop prided itself in obtaining the rarest of ingredients."

"Indeed we do, sir. But last summer was so wet our sources lost their crops. Very delicate plant, octurvice - hates the rain. This year would have been much better I should imagine, but no one has ordered any so I don't know. Once harvested, it doesn't keep for more than a few hours, so I don't get it unless it's specifically requested by the Institute or a private customer."

"Such as Severus Snape, for example?" suggested Phelps mildly. Toyle looked sharply between the two aurors. The young witch was glaring from the back of the shop, her arms folded across her chest.

"Yes, he often orders items from us. No octurvice though. Orders his supplies by owl, that gammy knee makes it awkward for him to come here in person. Bloody You-know-who still ruining lives."

"Hmm," said Phelps non-committally. "May I see the details of his last order, Mr Toyle?"

"May I ask why?" the shopkeeper's voice had an edge to it which had not been there before.

"We are investigating the murder of Lucius Malfoy," declared Phelps smugly. He knew this was stretching the truth somewhat, as no one had been able to find any hard evidence of foul play. Yet. But he knew that the average businessman hated to be involved in illegal activity. Mr Toyle seemed a little put out.

"Pansy, would you fetch the last letter from Professor Snape please?" The sulking witch disappeared into the back room and returned a few minutes later with a piece of parchment. Toyle read it aloud before showing it to the aurors. "Here we are. 28th July. Seven whole dead Taiwanese flobberworms, fresh not dried, to be delivered by return of post."

"That's all?" Chiswick demanded incredulously, scrutinising the cramped handwriting and return address.

"Yes," said Toyle and Pansy simultaneously. After a little more snooping around and an unilluminating look at the ledger – illegible to all but the privileged few capable of deciphering Pansy's shorthand – the aurors left.

Mr Toyle and Pansy frowned at each other in the empty shop.

"They think he killed Draco's dad," she said grimly. The shopkeeper nodded.

"Hmm." He cleared his throat and continued in a neutral tone, "It was lucky you forgot about the order which Professor Snape placed in mid-August. The one for all those toxic ingredients. They might have got the wrong idea."  
"Oh golly gosh. How stupid of me. It completely slipped my mind."

"Mine too. Forgot all about it."

"We ought to contact them and let them know," she carefully examined her fingernails.  
"They looked frightfully busy to me," he carefully examined his.

"You're right, we shouldn't disturb important Ministry work."

"No."

"Not for something so insignificant."  
"Absolutely not."

They exchanged a grim smile.

…….

After Remus had answered a series of awkward and downright impudent questions, he was allowed to leave, and headed straight for the only sensible place to head in a crisis, the Burrow. Molly had immediately contacted Arthur and Tonks, who leapt into action and found out certain key facts. Firstly, Severus had not been arrested or charged, merely held for questioning. Secondly, the 'Malfoy Murder' theory had been suggested by an Azkaban guard who had been present at the final meeting between the condemned and his old friend, and found their behaviour to have been suspicious. A handful of people at the Ministry, disgruntled at the way Lucius managed to avoid his due punishment, possibly also on the wrong end of Severus' malicious teaching methods in their youth, had decided it was worth investigating, while the majority couldn't really care less. Besides, Malfoy and Snape always acted suspiciously. Old habits died hard.

"I think the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is a bit bored lately," Arthur admitted, looking rather ashamed through the floo. "Certainly the overriding feeling is that whatever happened in the cell that night, the upshot was that Malfoy has been neutralised, and since he died before receiving the Kiss, there is no need to waste taxpayer's money on feeding and sheltering his soulless body. Kingsley's on night shift this week, he'll be there at seven on the dot to sort it all out."

"See," Molly reassured Remus, enveloping him in one of her patented motherly hugs, "It will be all right."

Remus was grateful for the overwhelming display of support, and wished he could believe her. As a werewolf, he had fallen foul of the Ministry's pig-headedness on numerous occasions, and knew that the Dark Mark on Severus' forearm would always make him a target for those who had suffered at the hands of his former colleagues, irrespective of any later heroism. He probably should have been nicer to the students while teaching at Hogwarts, too, Remus mused. Being ritually belittled and labelled incompetent twice a week for seven years of your adolescence could leave a person scarred for life, and thirsting for a stab at revenge. Making entire generations hate your guts was not a sensible insurance policy for the dotage of a childless person. But then, Severus had not believed in laying plans for the future, preferring to nurture the pain of the past whilst expecting the manifestation of the grim at any moment. Remus hung his head. Poor, damaged, darling Severus. If they managed to get out of this, he vowed to devote the rest of his life to making Severus happy.

…….

It was a widely accepted fact that institutions with long and distinguished histories resented any meddling from outside authorities, such as law-enforcers from the Ministry. Diana Chiswick had originally asked some of her colleagues to deal with the Institute of Master Potioners aspect of the investigation, but as soon as she mentioned IMP, the whole office had become very busy with various tasks she swore had not been classed as important moments before. So they had been forced to come themselves. Now she understood what the fuss had been about. The condescending way that the reception staff were all smiling at them was rather disturbing, and the intrusive high-level security checks frustrated the aurors at first, until it was explained that with all the strange concoctions being developed and tested in the area, Funny Things were known to happen to those unaccustomed to absolute reliance on their instincts.

"We are fully trained aurors," snorted Phelps disdainfully. "We have expert reflexes!"

One of the visitors' services wizards smiled that good-natured but patronising smile again.

"Yes, but you're not _potioners._" Chiswick started to ask what on earth he meant by that when an intercom box on the wall buzzed and announced an incomprehensible message. The grinning wizard thanked the disembodied voice and turned back to the guests. "Professor Hayashi is at the Singed Eyebrow Knut Distortion Contest. I'll take you over there."

"The what?"

"Monday afternoon tradition," was all he would say. He led them out of the reception building and across the ancient courtyard, passing through a low stone archway and into what must have been one of the laboratory areas, judging by the frequent scorch-marks, patchwork walls and high numbers of reconstruction-wizards in protective clothing. The young potions master saw them staring and began a little commentary.

"On your right you'll see Delta Block, which is where the Wolfsbane potion was invented in 1984, and was one of several areas used by the late Albus Dumbledore for his research into the twelve properties of dragon's blood. Straight ahead of us is the Nicholas Flamel Building, undergoing major repairs now for the ninth time this year after a couple of Bronze Standard students blew the roof off while gauging the flammability of erumpent insulin two weeks ago."

"How dreadful! Taking the entire roof off!" Chiswick couldn't help but exclaim.

"Not really, Ma'am," the young man replied, "It turned up just outside Salisbury station yesterday lunchtime. It should be back to normal before long. Now please take care. We're passing Lambda Block, the medications department," he hastened his footsteps and looked around fearfully, "This section is the most common area for the occurrence of Funny Things."

"Yes, what exactly do you mean by 'Funny Things'?" demanded Phelps uneasily, hurrying to keep up.

As if to demonstrate, a dense cloud of purple smoke materialised from nowhere and began hovering ominously above their heads. At the panicked squeak from their guide, the small convoy broke into a run, as tiny yellow rubber ducks began to rain quacking down onto them.

"Bloody healing students!" yelled the young fellow. "Whatever you do, don't swallow any ducks!"

The aurors clamped their mouths shut, wondering whether they should demand a full and detailed explanation with diagrams and official witnesses, or whether they were better off not knowing. Either way, now was not the time.

Eventually they dodged through a doorway an found themselves outside the stone walls of the Institute, thick enough to make Hogwarts look like an interestingly-shaped canvas tent. Directly in front of them was a small cluster of cauldron and book shops and a battered-looking old pub proclaiming itself to be the "Singed Eyebrow". A poster on the wall advertised the IMP Halloween Cocktail Contest. Phelps could not repress a shudder at the thought.

The Knut Distortion Competition was obviously over, people were laughing and comparing performances, and strange smells hung in the air. There also appeared to be a shiny bronze goat on the pool table, nonchalantly munching at the green baize while a harassed-looking barmaid tried to push it off.

Sitting at a table in the corner of the room was a small Japanese witch of about a hundred years of age, whom the aurors instantly recognised as the greatest living potions master in the world and Director of the Institute, Professor Hayashi. She was gathering up what appeared to be a hefty pile of winnings and preparing to leave when Chiswick and Phelps made their respectful approach.

"Professor, it is an honour to meet you," Will bowed and showed his credentials.

"What?" she shrieked. "Oh no, the law! What have those horrible healers been up to now? Not more Funny Things?"

"Er, no, Madam. Not as far as I am aware. The Ministry would like your assistance in a murder investigation." The glare she was giving him could have pierced lead. A few nearby students began paying attention. Phelps swallowed, suddenly understanding where Snape had learned his intimidation techniques. Forget Voldemort, this woman was not even five feet tall and almost had him in tears. "I would like help in interpreting the scientific notes of one of the Institute's fellows, who we are currently interrogating at our headquarters." The pub fell devastatingly silent. Scores of eyes were focussed on them. Professor Hayashi appeared to be very angry indeed and Phelps suddenly had the distinct impression he was in big, big trouble.

"You…people…are holding one of my fellows?" she spat into the silence of a crowd of people holding its collective breath. "Who?"

"I am not at liberty to…"  
"Who?" she ignored him.

"The matter is currently…"  
"Who?" The Director was standing inches away from him, looking upwards and boring holes right through him with relentless dark brown eyes. Phelps swallowed.

"Severus Snape."

Up to that point, the crowd had been merely interested in the proceedings. Now hostility was pouring from every corner of the room, and Chiswick's trained eye could see many hands reaching for their wands, and even more worrying given the circumstances, many fingers pulling crystal vials of various liquids from hidden pockets. Somewhere a dog began to growl. Clearly, the Institute had collective loyalty issues. Hayashi's eyes never left the young auror's face.

"I see," she said quietly. Chiswick began to wonder if she should be calling for back-up, when Hayashi took a step back and seemed to address the crowd as well as the aurors. "I will take care of this," she declared, eyes glittering. "Personally." Lots of smirking and nodding greeted this statement, and the throng parted as the Director led them out of the Singed Eyebrow, pausing to drop a tiny amount of a clear solution onto the goat. Seconds later, it bleated once in alarm, then shrank suddenly back into a shiny bronze knut. Phelps decided he wanted to go home.

…….

"Yes, I remember Will Phelps," said Percy, sitting down stiffly next to Remus at the Weasley kitchen table. "He was in my year. Ravenclaw prefect. His dad killed himself before he was born, during the first war, but there was supposed to have been something wrong with the suicide note."

"Wrong? It was a fake?"

"Well, he had been an auror, and was in charge of the raid on a suspected Death Eater stronghold when Lucius Malfoy's father was killed." Percy glanced at his mother for confirmation. Molly nodded, continuing the story.

"It was all covered up of course. The Malfoys claimed the whole thing was a farce, and that he was completely innocent. It made sense that Lucius would have wanted revenge. Apparently Jim Phelps ingested hemlock and left a note saying he couldn't stand the horrors of the war any longer."  
"What was wrong with that?" asked Remus, puzzled. He had felt that way himself at times, though he would never admit it. Well, maybe to Severus.

"He signed it with his real name, 'Jeremiah'," said Molly grimly. "All his life he had been known as Jim. Even to his parents. There was no way he would use that name. It would be like Tonks signing herself as 'Nymphadora'."

"I see. But he definitely wrote the note?"

"Yes, no doubt about it. But it would have been the perfect way to show he was being forced to write it against his will."

"Forced by Lucius Malfoy?" things were beginning to slide into place in Remus' mind.

"No way of telling," Percy interjected. "He was way too clever to leave clues. But Will was convinced he had been responsible. He blamed everything that went wrong in his life on the fact that he'd never met his father. I remember Flitwick lecturing him within an inch of his life for hexing Draco in his first week at school. I imagine Lucius took a dim view of that and leaned on Dumbledore."

Remus suddenly felt very old. Would the past ever stop ruining the present? William Phelps had obviously convinced himself that Malfoy was the root of all evil, and had been dying to see him receive the Kiss. He supposed that in Will's eyes, he had escaped justice once again, and the next logical step had been to transfer his thirst for revenge to the man who may have given him the easy way out. There was also the possibility… Remus hated himself for even entertaining the thought, but he was certain that it had crossed Phelps' mind. Jim Phelps had been killed by poison, a good six months before Severus switched sides. Would Lucius really have dirtied his hands by performing such a deed himself?

Misinterpreting his look of total despair, Molly hugged him again.

"You really love Severus, don't you?" she asked, smiling gently. Percy shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Yes," said Remus firmly, fighting back tears. "I love him. Despite all his faults."

…….

Auror Chiswick was beginning to have serious doubts about this investigation. She had not liked the expression on Professor Hayashi's face one bit, as the potions legend had taken charge of the scrupulously filed notes in Snape's library and laboratory. They made absolutely no sense to the aurors, so they had little choice but to seek help from the Institute, but now Diana was wondering if it would be best to just forget this whole thing.

She had booked a front row seat at Malfoy's execution, longing to see him as vacant and useless as her dear best friend and former work-partner Alice and her husband Frank, doomed to shuffle around St Mungo's closed ward like imbeciles, their minds in tatters. Needless to say, she had immensely enjoyed watching Bellatrix Lestrange get Kissed. But now there was an unpleasant niggling at the back of her mind reminding her that it was Snape's amazing Dark Mark potion which had made the capture of all that scum possible; so even if he had killed Malfoy, did it honestly make any difference? Snape had been a member of the Order of the Phoenix, like Alice and Frank, her old boss Mad-eye and a handful of others. She had never been asked to join. Part of her was upset at this rejection – they had accepted a sadistic, slippery reformed Death Eater after all – but on considering the horrible things most of the Order had suffered through both wars, she was also a bit relieved. The war had been over for three years, but the loose ends left untied and endless recriminations kept it limping along. Perhaps it was time to let things lie.

Now young Phelps had discovered that Snape's lover was a keen gardener and had insisted on having a representative from the Ministry's Magifloral division inspect his Derbyshire home for any sign of octurvice, the poison-masking weed which was so crucial to his theory. Chiswick stepped out into Lupin's garden and beamed on recognising the herbology expert.

"Neville!"

"Hello, Aunty Diana," he smiled. Such a nice, polite boy, considering what he had been through. And obviously doing well in his job, too, if he was being consulted on such a matter! "Your colleague has been telling me all about the investigation." Was that a touch of ice in his tone? Will had obviously been going on about justice and revenge again, whereas Neville had always been keen to forget about his own unfortunate past.

"So, have you found anything, my dear?"

"I cannot see any octurvice leaves in this garden," he stated, rather formally, Chiswick thought. Good boy, to do things properly. Phelps was looking faintly annoyed.

"Are you certain, Longbottom?" Neville visibly flushed.

"Would you recognise a healthy, leafy octurvice bush if you saw one?"

"Er, no."  
"Well I would. And I don't see such a bush in this garden. Will that be all?" Neville wished his honorary aunt good-day and stalked off. It's OK, he thought to himself as he struggled to calm his racing heartbeat, I didn't tell a lie. They never asked if I saw the shrivelled stump of damaged bush struggling to survive. He smiled to himself.

Remus owed him a butterbeer. A very large one.

…….

Kingsley Shacklebolt, now head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, stormed through the corridors, wearing an expression which caused everyone in his path to scatter or press themselves into the walls to allow him to pass. He objected to being hauled into work well before the beginning of his shift; he objected to receiving an almighty dressing-down from the Minister of Magic; he objected to the idiocy of certain members of his team; he objected to Tonks' earlier implication that he could just wave his wand and sort it all out; but most of all, he objected to the headline in the Evening Prophet.

On reaching the office he bellowed for someone to fetch Chiswick and Phelps, immediately, or deal with the consequences. Kingsley was a mild man, most of the time, but like most gentle people, had the temper of a howling tornado on the rare occasions he allowed it to surface. The windows rattled as he bawled out Diana and Will, sending the rest of the department diving for cover.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU TWO THINK YOU'RE DOING!"

"Er…" began Phelps. He got no further as Kingsley slammed down a copy of the evening paper in front of him.

"READ THE HEADLINE!" he yelled. Diana swallowed and picked up the Prophet.

"'**Harry Potter: Ministry is a 'Bloody Disgrace'! **

**Slayer of Voldemort Blasts MLE for Harassment of Disabled Potions Hero. Rita Skeeter gives full story of Ministry incompetence on p. 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 and 11, plus public discussion forum: 'Why aurors are useless' p.12-17'**…"

"That will do, Auror Chiswick," said Kingsley, regaining his calm.

"But…" began Phelps.

"Enough, thank you," interrupted Shacklebolt smoothly.

"Sir…" Chiswick tried.

"I said enough. I want you both outside the Minister's office at eight tomorrow morning, in immaculately pressed dress uniform and toting an explanation good enough to keep her off my case. Now get out of my sight."

…….

Severus was feeling so ill and miserable, he was convinced there must be a dementor lurking somewhere nearby. He was still completely immobilised, still under constant surveillance, and still convinced that whatever happened from now on, it could not be good. The pain in his leg was making him see stars, which was thoroughly irritating as all he needed to do was stretch it out by taking four or five paces around the room, his throat was so swollen he had started having difficulty breathing, his glasses had vanished leaving him with a thumping headache and he felt utterly wretched. He hoped Remus was not under suspicion. He hated the idea of him having to suffer something like this because of his association with Severus. At least Lupin had lots of friends who would vouch for him – unlike himself, who would be left to rot. He felt safe in the knowledge that whatever these idiots managed to do to him, Remus would probably be all right. He clung to the thought.

Bloody Lucius. Still managing to screw his life up, even after death. Bloody Ministry.

He tried to gauge how long it had been since the aurors' last interrogation. He was dizzy with hunger and dehydration now, so it must be getting on for evening. They could not just leave him here like this for much longer. Could they? No one would care what became of a nasty old Ex-Death Eater like him, so yes, the probably could.

A metallic sound behind him caught his attention, though he was unable to turn his head to look, he knew the door was being unlocked. People were speaking, and a wave of sweet relief washed over his exhausted body as he recognised one of the voices. He had never been so pleased to hear that stern Aberdeenshire accent.

"You there! Remove that binding spell at once, young man!"

"Er…" the voice of an uncertain guard.

"All right, lad, do as the Headmistress tells you."

"Yes, Minister Bones."

Severus felt himself falling forwards. He knew he should make an effort to at least sit up in the presence of the Minister of Magic but the room was swirling with crazy grey light and the floor felt deliciously comfortable, though it seemed to be pitching and tossing rather more than floors were supposed to. Never mind. Minerva would make his excuses, he hoped.

"Severus? Dear Merlin, Amelia, what have your people done to him?"

Snape decided that he couldn't be bothered to speak. Too much effort. Hurt anyway. Why were they making so much noise? Someone was cradling his head in their lap, and his drooping eyes could just make out a sea of garish green tartan before he blacked out completely.

…….

Severus awoke slowly and comfortably in his own bed. He was tired and his knee ached, but otherwise he felt very well, considering all he had just been through. Frowning in the cosiness of his soft cotton pillow, he began to wonder if it had all been some kind of terrible hallucination. He stretched carefully, before starting to reach onto the bedside table for his glasses when he was suddenly being held tightly, desperately, possessively by a warm body. Remus. Remus was safe! They both appeared to be safe. Remus was crying, rocking him like a child and muttering fervently.

"Remus?" he managed to croak, starting to get worried at the blasted werewolf's odd behaviour. "Is everything all right?" Lupin was crying and laughing at the same time. He relaxed his grip on Severus and held his face in both hands. In the dim light Remus looked frightened, teary and absolutely the most beautiful sight Severus had ever seen.

"Are _you_ all right?" the werewolf demanded forcefully, scanning his face, presumably for signs of injury or distress. Snape nodded. Remus yanked him back into a fierce embrace.

"I am never, _ever, _letting anyone take you away from me again!" he clutched the black and white streaked head against his chest, stroking and kissing him with a desperate tenderness, all the while making promises of random violence towards those entities, real or imaginary, who threatened harm to his lover.

Severus was in heaven. Lying nurtured and safe in Remus' arms, he accepted the love, the passion, the death threats and the sense of possession with a giddy delight. Lovely, wonderful Remus was promising to care for him for the rest of eternity. It was glorious. Severus was smiling and crying and chuckling as he stared deeply into the emotional amber eyes. Now was the time. He had learned his lesson, he would not risk losing Remus before it had been spoken aloud. He had never said the words before, but now they were tumbling from his mouth, the perfect way to start the new chapter in his life.

"I love you, Remus. I love you, I love you, I love you."

…….

A/N: There you go. I think there will be an epilogue.

I thought that using original characters would be the best way to show everyone pulling together to help Severus, but I wasn't too interested in their development as people. I suppose I was trying to show that the war affected everyone in different ways.

Once again, thanks for the lovely reviews! You make my day, and I'm so grateful that you take the time to do it! Take care, SN x

PS But did he do it?


	12. Onwards

Remus knew he would never shake the memory of pelting over to the Ministry on hearing that Minister Bones herself had taken the decision to free Severus, dashing out of the lift light-headed with relief, only to find Minerva and a team of healers escorting him to St Mungo's on a stretcher. He had looked so pale and fragile, his whole body twitching with the spasms indicative of too long spent under a binding spell, Lupin had been unable to believe that he could possibly survive the trauma. Of course, he should have realised by then that Severus was stronger than he looked. After a few strengthening potions and healing salves, he had been pronounced healthy but exhausted, and Healer Indictor had grudgingly accepted Remus' argument that it would be better for him to regain consciousness in his own bed rather than in the hospital where he had spent so many painful weeks after his capture by Voldemort.

For two weeks after what became known as 'That Day', Remus and Severus were unusually clingy. They spent hours in bed, just holding each other tightly, as though terrified that everything could be destroyed at a moment's notice – jumping each time a floorboard creaked or a seagull cried suddenly outside the window. Severus was particularly nervous, becoming edgy if Remus left the room, and waking in a cold sweat from rambling anxiety dreams which left him confused and disoriented.

Gradually, the unpleasantness began to fade, and they saw that the fright they had received had been strangely good for their relationship. It had forced them to admit how much they needed each other, and it had forced Severus into declaring his love long before he would have under normal circumstances. Severus had also realised just how many friends he had, as Remus listed all the people who had acted on his behalf, bending or actually breaking laws for the sake of a nasty, greasy thing like him.

"See," Lupin smiled at his lover, carding his hands through black chest hair and dropping kisses on delicate white hands, "I'm not such a freak. Everyone else thinks you're great too!"

"I don't understand," whispered Snape, accepting the addictive caresses but still unable to relax completely. "I have a justifiably shady reputation. Why should all those people blindly believe my innocence?" Remus' hands stilled. The weak autumn light filtering through the closed curtains made his expression difficult to read, especially as Severus was not wearing his glasses. The werewolf swallowed carefully and laced their fingers together.

"Er," he managed at last. The potions master looked up at him with faint alarm.

"Remus? What is it?"

"Nothing really. It's just that…" Lupin swallowed again and fixed him with a searching stare. "Actually, I'm not sure they _did_ believe you were innocent."

Severus knew he was gaping like an idiot, but somehow his jaw would not respond to his attempts at closing his mouth. He blinked at the grey-haired man as he tried to form a coherent sentence. In the end, he gave up, throwing back his head and laughing until the tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Severus?" Remus asked gently, confused and a bit worried about his lover's mental state. Snape gleefully kissed him on the end of his nose, face still alight with hilarity.

"Griffindor may have won the war, but the war turned them all into Slytherins."

…….

Six months later, Remus and Harry were strolling around the Albus Dumbledore Memorial Garden in Godric's Hollow, right next door to Harry's new house. The official opening would happen the following weekend with a huge garden party, designed to be a commemoration of the lives of the fallen, as well as a celebration of the ongoing peace and stability of the wizarding world. Harry was very excited, having been too deep in shock to join any parties at the time of the defeat.

"So the second marquee will go here," he explained, gesturing towards the meadow with his hands. "I hope Neville will manage to get those sweet-gryphons to flower in time, they would really set off the view of the valley. And the fairy's breath should have interwoven nicely with the clematis at the top of the trellis by then too. What?" Harry glared suspiciously at Remus' gentle smile.

"Nothing. I've never seen you so interested in gardening, that's all."

"I just want everything to be perfect," shrugged the young man. "This is so important, Remus. Not just for the old Order, either. I met some kids at Christmas who were too young to remember any of it, and they asked if Voldemort had really been so bad! We have to educate future generations. It should not be allowed to happen again."

"But it probably will," sighed Remus. "Time and time again wars break out and no one learns from it. After Grindelwald they all said 'never again', and the First Muggle World War was supposed to be 'the war to end all wars' yet they managed another humdinger just twenty years later." Harry was silent for a moment, before replying carefully.

"Perhaps it will. But people need to know." Remus nodded, before pulling him into a hug.

"You're right, Harry. I don't mean to make light of all that you've achieved. I'm so amazingly proud of you."

The evening sun bathed the whole garden in a charming pinkish light, making the garden seem even more peaceful than during the day. The enchanted fountain in honour of Sirius, which had taken on certain marauderly whims and would randomly shoot powerful jets of water at passers by, was trickling gently in the middle of the lawn, while a blackbird trilled from somewhere in the hedge. A winged silhouette with something large clasped in its beak swooped gracefully out of the nearby wood, wheeled once around Harry's head and disappeared under the eaves of Phoenix House, immediately greeted by a chorus of squeaks and screeches. Remus smiled. Hedwig had taken to motherhood with the same quiet dignity as all her other tasks, even proudly allowing Harry a quick peek into the nest at the two ungainly heaps of fluff, capable of making the biggest din he had ever heard despite being so small and helpless-looking. Her mate Quicksilver was not so indulgent, and positively savaged any human or animal daring to trespass in his exclusion zone on the south side of the house. Crookshanks had taken a serious pounding the previous week.

"Do you really think there will be another war?" asked Harry eventually. Remus considered the hopeful answer for a second before disregarding it. He would never lie to Harry, even in an attempt to make him feel better.

"Yes," he answered, honestly, his hand straying to the patch of uneven skin on his throat where Severus had recently cured his painful silver burn. "But hopefully, not in our lifetime."

"What if it is in our lifetime?" asked Harry desperately, horrified by the thought of having to experience all the death and devastation again. "I was completely shipwrecked by the end of it. So were you."

"That much is true, but we've both managed to salvage a life for ourselves," his eyes darted over to the patio, where Hazel and Severus were still deep in conversation, the sleek black and white head and the messy brown one leaning together over a scribbled diagram resting on the picnic table – apparently magic potions and muggle chemistry had a large amount of common ground. Being generally unable to understand more than one word in three, their less scientific partners had learned to leave them to it once Hazel had mastered lip-reading, settling down to talk about godfatherly/godfilial things instead.

"If we survive," added Harry.

"If we survive," Remus agreed.

Severus chose that moment to glance over at the blasted werewolf, _his_ blasted werewolf, whose face was glowing serenely in the twilight like some incarnation of Contentment. Noticing the look of total adoration spreading across Severus' face, Hazel ended discussion and beckoned Harry into the house, leaving the older couple alone.

They sat in silence for a long time, enjoying the stillness of the balmy spring evening. It was hard to imagine evil lurking outside the walls of the tranquil little haven, or to contemplate despair shattering the serenity of the life they two of them had managed to reconstruct. The future might throw anything their way - conflict, pain, suffering or death - but just at that moment, in that place, Remus Lupin and Severus Snape were completely at peace.

…….

…….

A/N: I say it so often that it must sound false, but THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed, you have all been really supportive and I appreciate it A LOT! It's lovely to hear that my ramblings are hitting the right note.

Thank you Hopgoblen, Nephthys Snape, Mon, Carla Shaqui, Nijijin, Skinnyrita, Busaikko, Mercutio-rane, Lucidity, and Jonathan Livingstone Coyote for a gorgeous crop of compliments about the last chapter – and thanks to everyone who reviewed at any stage. Neous – I'm honoured, you're a genius.

I'm so glad you liked my introduction to the IMP, it's a fun place to write about!


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